Holiday Happenings
by ICanStopAnytime
Summary: After settling on the island, the survivors celebrate the holidays with humour, romance, and drama. Features an ensemble cast, focusing especially on Sayid and Claire and Sawyer and Kate. A memorial day piece is now underway.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: **_**This holiday themed collection of short stories was begun awhile ago before much of the Lost plot had unraveled. Thus, in this alternate universe, the survivors have settled down on the island after making a truce with the Others. Charlie has dies in battle, but Eko is still alive. Jack has gone off to join the Others with Juliet. I continue to add new holiday shorts periodically. So far, it covers Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, and now Memorial day.**_

**Chapter One**

"Let me see if I comprehend this: the children dress up in costumes and beg for treats, and the solicitation contains a threat of retaliation if charity is not forthcoming."

"Dude, didn't you have Halloween in Iraq?" Hurley stood outside the hut he shared with Sayid. It had been deemed economical that no fewer than two people should live in one habitation, and somehow the odd couple had been lumped together.

Months had passed since the treaty with the Others had been signed, and so far they had kept their word—there had been no more raids, no more attempts at brainwashing, and the children had been returned. Kate and Sawyer had been rescued long before the truce, but with Jack the survivors had been too late—the doctor had accepted the indoctrination of the Others and had joined their ranks to marry Juliet. Charlie, along with half a dozen others, had been killed in the intermittent warfare that had preceded the truce, and Walt and Michael had never been heard from again.

But a peace had come, and life had moved on. The crude, beach village was drawn close together. The survivors had long since decided there was strength in numbers, and even though the Others appeared to be honoring the treaty, Locke and Sayid had organized two-man nightly patrols, which had become an accepted fact of life on the island.

"No," Sayid answered, and he smiled as Claire approached with a toddling Aaron, who wore some sort of white robe and a crown of leaves.

"So, what's he, like, a Roman or something?" Hurley asked.

"Puck," Claire answered. "You know, from the Shakespeare play."

Hurley shook his head slowly.

"Charlie would have loved this," Claire said, a little sadly.

Sayid shot her a sympathetic and understanding glance, though he did not know if Shannon was a particular fan of Halloween. He imagined she would delight in it, and he smiled at the thought of her giddily preparing to greet trick-or-treaters. Nevertheless he found himself murmuring, "I still do not understand what this is supposed to teach the children."

"It's not supposed to teach them _anything_," said Claire, in a voice that was half perturbed and half laughing. "It's just a lot of fun."

"I was not criticizing," the Iraqi insisted, and he extended a mango and placed it in the young Aaron's bag. He placed one each in the bags of Emma and Zack, who had resided with Rose and Bernard since their return. As the small group trailed on, Kate and Sun approached holding their infants. Sun's daughter was over three months older than Kate's son, but the boy already matched the girl in size.

"I think they are too young for whole mangoes," suggested Sayid.

"Just put it in the bag," ordered Sun. Her husband smiled from behind her and half-shrugged at Sayid, as though to say, "You know better than to attempt to resist the will of this woman."

Sayid dropped a mango into the bag. He looked at Kate. "I suppose you want one for your toothless progeny as well?"

Kate's intended sigh came out as a laugh instead. "Don't you know one of the major rewards of being a parent is that you get to relive the holidays through your children?"

He placed a mango in her son's bag as well. The boy was barely old enough to smile, but smile he did, and there at the edge of his cheeks were Sawyer's dimples. Sayid turned towards the neighboring hut and glanced at the father, who was currently grinning at the older trick-or-treaters congregated around his door. Sawyer looked back at Sayid with a sneer. "Mangos, Mohammed? _Mangos_? So your one of _those _people, are you?"

"What people?" replied the Iraqi.

"You know. The ones who give out little boxes of raisins instead of candy because they're concerned about the children's health. The scrooges. _Your _type. The type I always loathed as a child."

"If I had candy, I assure you--"

Sawyer silenced him by raising an Apollo bar above his head and waving it back and forth before dropping it into Zack's bag. "Come to Uncle Sawyer, children, where you'll get real treats, not that organic health food crap the wacky Iraqi hands out."

"Where'd you get that?" Hurley exclaimed, looking longingly at the candy bar now going into Emma's bag. The food drops had stopped long ago.

"I've been keeping 'em," replied the Southerner. "I thought they'd fetch a pretty price one day."

Kate smiled at him as the youngest trick-or-treaters began walking in his direction. "And yet you give them away without expecting anything in return."

Sawyer racked his eyes over her lecherously. "Oh, I fully expect a reward tonight for my generosity."

Kate responded with her trademark rolled eyes and tilted head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Later, the survivors gathered around the common fire just outside the pantry and dinning hall. They enjoyed hot, fruit cider as the children examined their loot and Bernard grumbled of potential cavities he would have to treat. Rose rolled her eyes and scolded, "Oh, Bernard, they only have one candy bar apiece. Everyone but Sawyer had to be more inventive with their treats."

"Whatzit?" asked Aaron as he pulled something from his bag.

"Stickers," answered a booming voice, and Aaron looked up, up, up to the gleaming, white teeth of Mr. Eko, who had been the one to distribute the luxury.

Claire examined the sheet, which contained smiley faces and colorfully lettered words such as _Good Job _and _Super Work_. "Oh, kids love stickers" she said warmly as she showed Aaron how to peel them off and place them on his bag. He, however, preferred to stick them on his cheeks and forehead. "Where did you find them?"

"You know of the suitcases," the priest replied, in a voice slow and serious, as though he were about to embark upon an exemplum.

"Yes, Eko, I am well aware of the suitcases salvaged from the plane," Claire replied with an indulgent smile as she flicked a stray strand of blonde hair from her eyes. She helped Aaron peel off another sticker whose resistance was inspiring vocal frustration in the toddler. "I just didn't think there was anything left in them."

"I discovered," Eko pronounced, "among the remnants of the belongings these…stickers. I concluded that the owner was a schoolteacher, as the stickers were positioned loosely atop a set of papers marked by purple ink."

"Purple?" inquired Sayid. "I thought red was the requisite color for correction."

"No, dude," interjected Hurley, "teachers used to use red, but now it's considered, like, mean, you know? Where I'm from, they don't want hurt the kids' feelings, so they, like, use purple and blue and stuff."

Sayid crossed his arms about his chest and tilted his head ever so slightly. "They use purple ink in America so as not to fracture the tiny egos of the children?"

Hurley shrugged. "Yeah, well, in some places anyway."

Sayid did not suppress the smile that tugged at the edge of his lips. "And yet you still manage to raise armies. Intriguing."

"BALL!" exclaimed Aaron, holding up a lopsided creation resembling a baseball.

Locke approached the group from behind and said with quiet pride, "That one was mine."

Aaron titled his wrist back behind his shoulder and slung the ball forward with full force. It hit Sayid in a most sensitive place, and he cried out and doubled over. Claire's mouth fell open in a gasp, which she covered with an outstretched hand.

"Uh-oh," said Aaron. "Saaee get boo-boo?"

A few feet away, the common fire sizzled and then popped, illuminating Locke's twinkling eyes. "I'll say."

"What did you put in that?" the Iraqi asked through clenched teeth.

"It's sand and pebbles inside boar skin." Then, in a musing voice, Locke continued, "Claire, that boy of yours has quite an arm for such a young man."

By now Sayid had managed to straighten himself into a standing position.

"Saaee get boo-boo," Aaron repeated. Then he pointed to his mother and commanded, "Mummy kiss it make all better."

This brought a fierce blush to Claire's cheeks and a lighter one to Sayid's. In a low voice Claire said, "I don't think that would be appropriate right now, Aaron. Now let's go play with your friends." She took hold of his arm and ushered the toddler off to the other side of the fire, where Zack and Emma stood tossing their own crude baseballs back and forth to each other with one hand while munching down on their Apollo bars with the other, chocolate smeared across the edges of their beaming faces.

Sayid heard a low laugh rising from behind him, and he turned to see Sawyer's grinning face. The southerner slapped a hand on the Iraqi's shoulder and leaned in. "Hey, Don Juan, did you notice she only said _right now_?"

"Don _Joo-one_, brother," chimed Desmond as he approached the group, holding a cup of the fruit cider's fermented variety. "You pronounced it wrong."

"What do you mean I pronounced it wrong?" shot back Sawyer. "It's Spanish, ain't it?"

"The British say _Joo-one_. It rhymes in the verse. It's Byron's, you know. If you'd like, I could recite some of the poem."

"I would not like. What is that, your seventh cup?" Sawyer glanced at the fermented fruit concoction.

"I'm not drunk, you know." Turning to Eko, Desmond continued, "Vouch for me, father. Can you say you've seen me drunk in the past six months?"

Mr. Eko replied, not in judgment but merely in observation, "I am not entirely certain if I have ever seen you sober."

"Casanova, then!" said Sawyer, with disgruntled resignation. He gripped Sayid by the shoulder again and smirked in Claire's direction. "I know, deep down, you've been looking for an excuse to move out of that hut you share with Hurley."

Desmond's grin was a toothier, lopsided version of Sawyer's. "Carpe diem, brother. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may."

A series of muffled chuckles rose from the surrounding men. Even Eko's deep, stifled laughter could be heard among them.

Obviously anxious to extract himself from his position as an object of amusement, Sayid insisted he was thirsty. He began to walk around the fire, but his maneuver proved flawed, for as he approached the two cauldrons that contained the sweet liquid, so too did Claire. She dipped a ladle in the swirling vat, poured a cup, and extended it to Sayid. From across the fire came Sawyer's strident admonishment: "Make sure you give him the kid stuff, pretty mama, 'cause you know about the negative effects of too much alcohol."

Not having been privy to the extended mockery of the men, Claire did not immediately grasp Sawyer's meaning, and she looked at Sayid with bewilderment. He reached out and took the proffered cup, but he said only, "Happy Halloween."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Locke burst forth from the jungle onto the beach. Sayid turned from where he stood repairing Claire's hut. The hunter reared back and, holding his unsheathed knife at his side, took a deep breath. "Damn," he muttered. "Missed it again."

"The wild turkey you purported to see?" Sayid asked.

"I swear they're on this island," insisted Locke. "I've seen the tracks."

Sayid shrugged. "I have no reason to disbelieve you. It is simply that I have yet to witness their existence. Turkeys are not known for their stealth and camouflage, are they?"

Locke raised his knife in Sayid's direction and gestured at him with calm yet breathless assurance. "We're going to have a turkey for Thanksgiving."

As he walked off, Claire watched him with her bottom lip drawn in under her top one. She let out a short giggle, and Sayid looked at her and smiled. "Enlighten me about this impending Thanksgiving holiday," he said.

"What should I know?" she replied. "I'm Australian. I just know if involves a lot of food. And men in black hats."

Sayid raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah, and Indians."

"Native Americans," Hurley corrected her as he drew up to the hut with slow and heavy footsteps. Sawyer followed behind him.

"Hell, _I'm_ a native American," the southerner drew.

"Really?" Hurley asked, turning to look him up and down. "What, you got, like, some Cherokee in you or something?"

"No. I'm native _to _America."

Hurley still appeared slightly baffled. "Anyhoo," he said, turning to Claire, "Sawyer and I found some stuff that we think will work kind of like cranberries, you know, and we were wondering if you could, like, experiment with them and make sauce."

"Why me?" she asked. "What am I, some kind of chef? Why don't you ask John or Rose or Kate?"

"Kate!" Sawyer exclaimed with a loud snort.

"Locke is busy tracking the turkey, and Rose is going to be making pie…sort of," Hurley explained. "Can you just try it? Please?"

"Well," she smiled, tilting her head with affable resignation, "when you ask like that…" She took the bowl of berries he extended her. "So I have five days to get it right? And you'll keep me supplied?"

"Sure, Martha," said Sawyer, "we'll bring you another big bowl right before the gig."

"We're not sure it's really in five days," Hurley said, "what with that whole time anomaly thing awhile back. But if the calendar Locke and Sayid drew up is right, then we'll be celebrating at the right time."

As Hurley and Sawyer walked off, Sawyer gave Sayid a pronounced wink.

"Why does he keep doing that?" Claire asked. "He does it every time he sees you."

"No," replied Sayid, securing a loose horizontal beam. "Only when he sees me with you."

Claire looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "So, do people think we're a couple?"

Sayid pressed his shoulder against the beam while he tightened the knot. "I cannot judge what people think."

That was an irritating response. Claire had hoped the question would furnish her with some useful information because, frankly, _she_ was wondering if they were a couple. Three days after Halloween, he had asked her to take an evening stroll with him while Rose watched Aaron. And he had kept asking her to join him on these walks every other evening after that. Sometimes she talked about Charlie; sometimes he talked about Shannon; sometimes they talked about life on the island, and sometimes they simply did not talk at all. But he had never _tried _anything. Well, there had been that time he had wrapped his arm around her waist, but that had really only been to steady her when she tripped.

Sayid tugged on the beam to make sure it was secure. "It should hold," he assured her. "If you have any further problems, please let me know."

Claire decided it was best to assume he was only interested in friendship; after all, hadn't he come out of Shannon's tent half-naked not long after he had started "dating" her? Surely he would at least have tried to kiss her by now if he was at all attracted. Maybe he was just lonely. Their walks were pleasant. She could leave it at that.

Claire had achieved a real measure of independence in this place. There was something liberating in the knowledge that she had managed to go it alone these past few months. The father of her child had been nothing but a selfish heartbreaker, and Charlie, well, Charlie had been sweet but volatile. Claire had learned to trust herself.

Of course, Sayid was anything but volatile; at least, ever since the truce, he had been steady and dependable. And he would probably let her be herself. He never dispensed parenting advice, anyway.

Claire now thanked Sayid for his help, and as he began to leave, she called after him, "Are we walking again tonight?"

His smile was subdued. Claire noticed that he rarely smiled broadly, but he _did_ smile, a lot more these days than in the months after Shannon had died. She liked to see that; it made her think very differently of him than she had been inclined to think in those more tumultuous times…it made him seem younger, more carefree, more…accessible? It didn't injure his appearance, either. In fact, whenever he smiled, she noticed this soft light in his eyes that made her—

"Do you not have to perfect your sauce?" he asked.

She laughed. "I have five days. I think I can skip practice tonight."

"I will see you this evening, then," he promised before walking off.


	4. Chapter 4

A day spent in pursuit of an active toddler had wearied Claire, but after she and Sayid had been walking for awhile, the ocean air invigorated her. Sayid didn't seem inclined to talk, and she did not press him for conversation. It was peaceful, sometimes, simply to share the shore and stroll side by side beneath the glittering canopy of an open night sky.

"The view of the moon is beautiful here," he said at last, and gestured for her to sit. She accepted his suggestion and curled her legs Indian style. He sat next to her and placed his hands palm down in the sand, leaning back on slightly bent arms with his legs outstretched. She glanced sideways at him and noted the way his smooth skin seemed to accent the muscles that strained beneath the surface.

She wasn't going to kid herself. She _was _attracted him. How could she not be? But the whole thing was so strange…she knew the camp was whispering about them, pushing them together, expecting they would make a match.

There weren't many single men remaining on the island. Among them, Locke had become like a father to her, and Hurley…well, Hurley was sweet, but he was young, and he was…Claire was too kind to think it, but not too perfect to let it affect her ability to be attracted to him. Desmond had expressed some interest in her about a month after Charlie's death, but Claire had made it clear she was still mourning. She had thought at the time, vaguely, that something might come of them farther down the line, but Desmond had moved on, and three weeks later he was already living with another survivor. Claire had felt a slight tingle of regret, but it was neither long lasting nor powerful; she was glad she had done what was right for her at the time.

What all this meant now, however, was that she and Sayid were two of only a handful of available people remaining among the survivors. They were the loose ends of society, and that society wanted to see them neatly tied up.

Claire wondered if that was why Sayid kept asking her to go on these walks while declining to take matters any further than conversation: because he felt the pressure to tidy things up, but he didn't actually _want _her. She didn't like the thought, yet she couldn't help but think it. And although she wouldn't mind trying to be something more than a friend, she certainly didn't want to be his duty. So she blurted, "You're not interested in me, are you?"

He stopped leaning on his arms and sat at attention. She wasn't sure if it was her tone or her words that had startled him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you aren't attracted to me, are you?"

"Is it not obvious that I am? Why do you think I ask you on these walks?"

She dug a shell out of the sand from between her legs and examined it. With her shoulders pulled into a half shrug, she mumbled, "Then why haven't you tried to kiss me?"

"Because, until now, you had not given me the slightest indication that you wished me to do so."

She looked at him with disbelief. "So, what? You expect me to take the initiative?"

His lips fell partly open, perhaps in confusion, and then he closed them. They were full, supple, lips, and she couldn't seem to stop looking at them. "It is much more practical that way," he said at length.

"Practical? How is it practical?"

Those lips she was eyeing twitched with bemusement. He straightened them and said, "I am willing to do whatever you desire, Claire. It only seems appropriate, therefore, that you should be the one to set the pace--"

"Really, Sayid?" A light, scoffing sound escaped her lips. "What then? If I were to say let's have sex right here, right now you'd be game?"

She expected him to either laugh or back pedal. She did not expect him to say, in that matter-of-fact tone of his, "Certainly."

She blinked twice. She lowered the shell to the shore, but she still grasped it in her hands.

"You are a beautiful woman, Claire. And it has been…" He shook his head. "Do you expect I would decline?"

She looked out at the ocean. "We haven't even kissed, Sayid. I'm not even thinking about _that _yet. I mean, I've thought about it, but I'm not actually _thinking _about it." She dropped the seashell and raised her hands to either side of her head as if to steady her thoughts. "Okay, that didn't make much sense."

"I know what you mean. I understand there is a difference between desire and willingness." He leaned his head downward and caught her eye. "You see then why it is practical for you to...give me some indication of what you are ready to do when you are ready to do it? And then I will happily oblige."

She sighed. "That's a bit dull."

His eyes altered in the moonlight. She thought he actually looked injured. "You think me dull?"

"No, not at all," she hastened. "I just mean…it isn't much of a challenge."

"Claire, you are stranded on an island, living close to nature, and raising a young child by yourself under extreme circumstances. Why should you require another challenge?"

She laughed lightly. "You're right. I could probably use something…uncomplicated."

"You miss Charlie."

It wasn't a question; it was a statement. Was that the problem? Was she so accustomed to Charlie's strange devotion, to his sudden changes in mood, and to the roller coaster ride of anxiety that had been their relationship that she wasn't able to adjust to the idea of a quiet, straightforward romance?

No, it wasn't just that…though that might have been a part of it. It was the feeling that Sayid was prepared to content himself with the leftovers. He'd like the fare well enough; it would satisfy, and he'd be glad for the nourishment, but it would _still _be leftovers. It wasn't as if he was ever going to love her like he had loved Shannon.

Did that really matter, though? Did it have to be all or nothing? Why couldn't she ever shake her girlish, romantic notions of the way relationships were supposed to be? Those ideas had never helped her find a stable man before. The roller coaster was thrilling, surely, but the carousel was pleasant enough, and it never made your heart drop into the pit of your stomach so you felt like you would vomit. Maybe it was time to grow up.

"Yeah," she said. "I miss him. Like you miss Shannon. And you're nothing like him, just like I'm nothing like Shannon. I mean, you wanted to take the initiative with her, right?"

He looked at her curiously and spoke slowly. "I followed her signals. They were not subtle."

"Oh. I just assumed--"

"Do you think it means I do not truly desire you simply because I refrain from demanding what I have no way of knowing you want?"

"Oh. I didn't think of it like that."

They were quiet for a time after that. The silence gave way to fidgeting on her part. When he continued to remain patiently beside her, without moving closer and without speaking, she finally uttered, "Well, kiss me already, dammnit!"

Now he was the one to say, "Oh." Shifting in the sand to bring himself closer to her, he said, "I did not realize you meant at this precise moment…"

His lips were very close to hers. She wasn't expecting to feel this nervous—almost like a teenager again. After all, it wasn't like he was some rock god. He was a technician and a soldier and a mathematician, a builder of huts and a declaimer of facts. But his taste was sweet, and his tongue was hot, and there was absolutely nothing logical about the warm shudder that was racing up her spine as his lips pressed decisively against hers. And the only thing she could manage to think was, _Carousel my ass. _


	5. Chapter 5

In the distance, Kate prepared to take her morning swim. As Sawyer approached Claire, she looked up from where she sat rolling the ball Locke had made Aaron for Halloween. Aaron too stared up at the man who cradled his infant with apparent discomfort. The toddler shielded his little eyes against the morning sun.

"With Aaron potty training so much earlier than usual, I thought you might miss the old days." Sawyer extended the infant to her. "Wanna change him?"

"No, Sawyer, I don't, thank you," Claire said as she rose and dusted the sand from her pants.

He cradled the baby back against his chest and grumbled, "Fine, then, I'll be on my way. But first let me congratulate you on finally getting together with Captain A-rab."

"What makes you think we're together?"

"I saw him smooching on you last night in front of your hut."

"Yeah, well," Claire said, "he was only saying good night. We're giving it a try. No rush. There isn't likely to be any drama, so I'm afraid there'll be nothing to amuse yourself with."

"What? No angst? Come on. Every couple's got to have a little angst. We don't get the soaps here."

"I doubt it," Claire replied. "Which is odd, actually, when I think about it, because I certainly had a lot of angst in my relationship with Charlie, and Sayid did, too, in his relationship with Shannon. But I really don't see it happening with us." She mused on the subject for awhile and did not quite realize she had asked out loud, "Why would that be?"

"Well, Miss Sherlock," said Sawyer, "I reckon' that's because Sayid ain't likely to kidnap your baby, and you ain't likely to ask him to kill someone he doesn't particularly feel like killing." With a crinkle of his nose, he walked off muttering, "This kid stinks."

Claire was still contemplating the bizarre facts Saywer's comments highlighted when Hurley approached her and asked, "Thanksgiving meal's tomorrow afternoon. Did you figure out that sauce yet?"

"I think so," said Claire. "I'll have something to bring, anyway." Then she tilted her head. "So …are we supposed to bring presents?"

"Presents?" asked Hurley with a furrowed brow. "No, it's like, just a time to eat and give thanks for everything, you know."

"Oh, good." That was a relief. She didn't want to have think about what sort of present she should be getting Sayid. That was always a touchy point in a new relationship. One didn't want to imply too much.

Hurley chuckled to himself and shook his head as he walked on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

On Thanksgiving afternoon, the survivors sat down to a repast, and Locke did not fail the community: a turkey, slow roasted over a fiery pit since early that morning, now sat in the center of the common dining table. The hunter unsheathed his knife and, with a self-satisfied smile, began to take the carving honors upon himself.

"Wait!" Hurley insisted. "We have to go around the table first and have everyone say what they're thankful for."

Locke bowed his head in submission to the command and set his knife aside for the time being. "Let the master of the ceremonies tell us where to start, then," he said.

"I'll start, and then we'll go around this way—" Hurley pointed to Sawyer, who rolled his eyes. The big man stood and said, "I'm thankful we've lived in peace for awhile now, and I'm thankful we found those batteries for my portable CD player, even if they only lasted thirty minutes. I'm also thankful I've lost twenty-seven pounds."

"How do you know it's twenty-seven, brother?" asked Desmond from the far end of the table.

Hurley shrugged. "It's just an estimate."

Sawyer chuckled when Hurley sat back down. "I ain't standing," he said.

"Fine, but you have to at least say what you're thankful for," Hurley insisted.

"I'm thankful," announced Sawyer in a booming voice, pulling a hand from his pocket and gesturing to where Sayid sat, "that Torquemada here has managed to go almost a full year without torturing anybody. And," Sawyer sat up in his chair a little bit, "I'm grateful Hurley hasn't already devoured every last bit of Rose's special mango pie." He smirked and liked his lips. "Oh, yeah," he said quickly, putting an arm around Kate, who cradled their son, "and I'm grateful for the oven here and the freckled offspring." His smile faded only momentarily when Kate elbowed him in the chest.

A few of the men chuckled at Sawyer's last comment, while the women returned them incendiary stares. Claire glanced at Sayid and was surprised to find him smiling. "What, you think that's funny? Referring to the mother of his child as an oven?

"Not at all," Sayid said, forcing his mouth into a straight line. "I am merely amused that Sawyer has at last been forced to admit he is grateful for someone."

It continued like that, around the table, and when it was Claire's turn, she felt a little nervous. These people were family—closer than any real family she'd ever had—but she'd always hated any kind of public speaking. "I'm grateful for Aaron, of course," she said. "And for…friends…who…help…"

"Oh, sister, just say you're grateful for Sayid," implored Desmond, who sat three chairs down from her. This brought low chuckles to the group and mortification to Claire.

"Sayid, your turn," urged Hurley.

"I am grateful for time," he said, "and for second and…"--Claire felt him glance at her-- "…third chances."

When all had finished announcing the objects of their gratitude, a blessing was said, coconut bowls were promptly passed, and food was happily consumed.

In the midst of the meal, Claire leaned over to Sayid and complained, "Everyone is quietly mocking my berry sauce."

"No, surely you misunderstand them," asserted Sayid. "It is quite delicious."

"Yeah. That's why you've had one bite, right?"

"I was merely saving the best for last." Sayid plunged his fork into the congealed concoction and placed a slice into his mouth. "Mhmmm," he murmured as he chewed forcefully and swallowed slowly. "Excellent." But as soon as she was distracted by Aaron and had to turn partially away, she heard the low, begging whine of Vincent, and she saw Sayid slipping the sauce under the table.

Caught red handed, Sayid abashedly returned the creation to his plate. In response to Claire's unhappy sigh, he averred, "Truly, it is not that bad."

"Even the dog wouldn't eat it, Sayid."

"Well…perhaps the crafting of berry sauce is not your calling. But you have other virtues."

"Such as?"

"You are an excellent mother. You are tender hearted. You make people feel welcome, comfortable…content."

"Content, huh?" She turned aside to wipe Aaron's face for the fourth time. "Well, that's better than _nothing _I suppose."

She could tell from Sayid's expression that he was confused by her disgruntled tone. She scolded herself for reading too much into his words. That was a foolish thing that women did with men, and she didn't want to be foolish. He hadn't meant to imply he was settling for her. She could accept his words as the compliment they were intended to be. Sayid _did _look content, and he hadn't looked really content since, well…since Shannon had died.

"Thanks," Claire said, and she reached out to put her hand over Sayid's, offering it an affectionate squeeze. "You know how to make me feel better."

The grateful smile that now greeted her was an embodiment both of relief and of the pleasure that comes from knowing one has pleased. She smiled back. "Happy Thanksgiving, Sayid."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"It has only been three days since Thanksgiving. Do you usually decorate for Christmas so early?" Sayid watched Claire string up the stockings. She had made him attach a mantle to the wall of her hut, even though there was no fireplace.

"There has to be a gradual build up, Sayid. I like to decorate a little at a time, day by day. Then each day grows more exciting as that one special day approaches, until I'm so stirred up that…you're laughing at me."

"No," he said, swallowing the sound between tight lips. "I like to see you so…eager."

And he did like the warm glow the giddiness brought to her cheeks. He marveled at how lovely she was. Sayid had known that Claire was a beautiful woman, but in the same way he acknowledged a sunset was beautiful: it was an observable phenomenon. He hadn't noticed her, _really _noticed her, until the night of the Halloween party, when Sawyer's crass encouragement had called her to his attention.

He had pursued women before, of course, but only after they had made their interests clear. He had no difficulty setting a romantic scene and playing the gentleman once he suspected a woman felt some attraction, but he had thus far avoided the whole, messy first approach. It had therefore taken him three days to work up the courage to ask Claire on a walk. Then he had mistaken her quiet nature for aloofness, and he had feared she was only indulging him—until repressed impatience had caused her to demand a kiss. That directness pleased him. It made matters clear. But since that moment, she hadn't been at all clear about how he should proceed.

Sayid was accustomed to assertive women, and there was something so much easier, so much more effortless, in the childhood friend who reached for your hand first, or in the attractive woman who suggested a Saturday evening of knot tying. With Claire…matters were different. Sayid could never quite tell what she _wanted_, and she did not seem to want to tell him what she wanted either. If he continued to await her hints, as he had originally planned, he feared he would await her forever. She seemed to prefer that he take steps in the dark without knowing whether there was somewhere to land. It was, for him, an agonizing uncertainty, but there was also something unexpectedly arousing about her demureness, something that did far more than merely ignite the protector in his nature. Before Claire, he would have thought that only a forward woman could excite him…so it was strange to him, now, that this mild-mannered, sweet, soft-spoken creature hanging stockings on a useless mantle should have his full attention.

"But do you not fear," he asked, "that if you anticipate the day so vehemently, it will prove anti-climatic? Perhaps you should not draw out the suspense."

"You don't get it, do you, Sayid? The suspense is just as fun as the day—so you end up with more than just one day, you see?"

He shook his head. "But none of those days are _the _day. It does not bother you? The waiting?"

"The waiting makes it better," she insisted. "And I thought you were the patient type."

"I can be patient when patience is required. But I do not go out of my way to test my patience."

"I'm putting the wreath up now, too," she said, "and that's all for today. I don't put up the tree until later."

He handed her the tropical wreath she had fashioned from the materials he had gathered at her request and watched as she hung it above the mantle. "Thanks, Sayid, for humoring me. I know you don't celebrate Christmas. I hope all this doesn't…offend you."

"Well," he murmured, taking a step forward and sliding an arm about her waist, "as offensive as I find oversized laundry dangling from a disembodied mantle beneath the decaying refuse of the jungle floor, I will endure it for the sake of the affection I hold for you."

He loved the way she smiled, the way she bit down on her bottom lip, just a little…

She was still smiling when he leaned in to kiss her. He began with a soft pressure, but he soon found himself growing more urgent, and he was pleased to discover her responding eagerly…for awhile. Then she actually ducked away from him and left him puckering at the air. He quickly regained himself.

"Sorry," she murmured, nodding in the direction of Aaron, who had just toddled into that part of the room and was staring up at them with amazement.

"It is growing late," Sayid replied, glancing at Aaron, "and I know you have to put him to bed. I should be getting back to…Hurley."

Claire now had her arms draped around her son, who was attempting to twist his body back and forth in a free flow pendulum within her grip. "Rose said she'd be happy to watch him tomorrow evening. Aaron, I mean. Not Hurley."

"Well, Hurley could likewise benefit from some watching. He nearly burned down our hut last night because he forgot to blow out his candle." They made arrangements to spend some time together the following evening, and Sayid gave Claire a quick kiss on the cheek before making his way back to his hut.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"One…two….heave!" ordered Eko, and the three men brought their weights to bear against the trunk of the tree until it crashed to the jungle floor.

Sawyer handed Sayid an axe and told Eko, "We'll take the wood gathering from here. I know you got that spiritual mumbo jumbo to attend to."

"Mass," said Eko with a soft smile and bright eyes.

"Yeah, whatever," replied Sawyer, taking up a second axe that had been recovered from one of the hatches some months ago. "Enjoy shepherding your mighty flock of eight."

Eko showed no reaction to the bating but merely bid the men farewell before walking away.

Sawyer's teeth flashed at Sayid. "How come you ain't in church with your girlfriend?" Claire had never been a churchgoer before the island, but ever since Aaron's baptism, she had found herself incrementally drawn by the assurances of religion. Once the church was built, she and the former altar boy Charlie had attended semi-regularly.

"You start at that end," Sayid commanded, "and I will begin chopping over here."

"You know, it's gotta come up sooner or later, Mohammed," Sawyer said to his back.

Sayid turned. "What has to come up?"

"The fact that she's Christian and you're Muslim."

"The subject has arisen. We have dealt with it. I am not particularly religious, and I am respectful of her beliefs."

"Respectful, huh? So you don't think it's ridiculous that Claire believes Christ was born of a virgin?"

"The Koran also teaches that he was born of a virgin."

Sawyer raised an eyebrow, but he went to work splitting wood. However, after half an hour of back-straining labor, he lodged the axe handle in the fallen tree and approached Sayid with a different offensive. "So, whatcha getting the little lady for Christmas?"

Sayid turned his axe upside down and leaned on the handle. He dragged the back of his hand across his glistening brow. "I have not yet decided."

"Uh…oh, "chided Sawyer in a dramatic voice. "You better start thinking, Romeo, 'cause these women folk take the gift giving very seriously. She's going to be reading all sorts of things into it. It could be the biggest misstep you ever make."

A dismissive puff of air escaped Sayid's lips. He let the axe lay flat and picked up a canteen. After taking a swig he said, "I am sorry to disappoint you, Sawyer, but you are not going to worry me. I am not an inexperienced schoolboy. I know how to behave toward a woman."

Sawyer laughed loudly. "Confident, are we?"

"It is not a complex matter. I will give her something that is neither a vacuum cleaner nor a wedding ring. It will suffice." Sawyer blinked. He was greeted by Sayid's smirk. "And what are you giving Kate?"

"Ahh, see…" Sawyer shook his head with a dimpled smile, "It don't matter what I get her none, because she's already definitely mine. I even got the kid to anchor her down real tight. I mess up, and the worse I'm going to get is a sigh and a tilted head and a couple of nights sleeping in the sand. You mess up, on the other hand--"

"Sawyer, finish chopping."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Claire and Sayid had a designated spot where they usually paused on their walks to sit and enjoy one another's company. It was the same secluded stretch of shoreline where they had shared their first kiss. Tonight, Sayid had scouted ahead of Claire to set the scene before backtracking to pick her up at her hut. He delighted in the look of surprise that rose to her eyes when she saw the blanket stretched forth, held fast to the sand by four, stone-weighted bowls he had fashioned from coconut halves and filled with flowers.

"They're so beautiful," Claire said of the flowers, "and what a coincidence—my favorite color."

Sayid smiled slightly. "It is not a coincidence, I assure you."

"But how did you know?"

"You mentioned it yesterday, when you were trying to make that—what do you call it?"

"Tinsel. And you remembered."

When Claire smiled, as she was doing now, Sayid found her enchanting. He experienced a sudden desire to feel the warmth and softness of her body, but she was still examining the flowers, and he did not wish to interrupt her. When she turned away from the coconut vase and took his hand, he embraced her, and soon enough they were sitting together on the blanket and enjoying the stolen kisses that the distance from young, prying eyes afforded them.

Thus far, kisses were all Sayid had attempted to steal, but tonight he let his hand rest lightly on her waist, just below her breast. Gradually, he slid it upward, so that it hovered just within reach. Now, this was the time when any other woman would have shifted either away from or directly into his hand, depending on her mood. Claire, to his consternation, did neither. She just kept kissing him.

He was beginning to feel like a driver who has pulled up to a busy intersection only to find that the traffic signal has died. There were really only two choices. He could wait patiently for the traffic to die down, which might be a painfully long time, or he could take the first available opportunity, slam down the accelerator, and hope for the best. With some reluctance, he chose the first option, and he lowered his hand again to her waist.

Eventually, she drew away from his lips and rested her head on his shoulder, snuggling close against his neck. "When did you decide you were interested in me?" she asked.

"At the Halloween party."

She raised her head to look at him. "Why?"

"Aaron made that suggestion…"

Claire giggled. "And that inspired you to think about me."

"Not so much as what Sawyer said afterward."

"Sawyer?" asked Claire, pulling away to glance at him in disbelief. "Don't tell me I'm indebted to Sawyer for any amount of matchmaking. What did he say?"

"He pointed out that you had only said it would not be appropriate right now."

The starlight above and the torchlight beside them illuminated Claire's fair cheeks as they flushed a reddish-pink. She sat up straight. "You think I was implying that I wanted--"

"No, no," he hastened. "I knew it was just an unfortunate phrasing. It did, however, draw my attention to you, and it made me consider the possibility that perhaps, eventually…" Instead of completing the thought, he brought his lips to hers again, gently, and when she responded readily, he deepened the kiss.

He left her lips only to explore the length of her neck, and at its base he nibbled lightly. Her light gasp quickened his pulse. He took pleasure in discovering her favorite spots to be kissed; it brought him a sense of satisfaction mingled with excitement. He continued his experiment, backtracking up her neck to her earlobe, which only caused her to giggle tickilishly. He returned to that particular part of her neck, and when she hummed and drew her body closer, he decided to take the gamble. He began to caress her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt, and he could feel her body responding. Her satisfied murmur encouraged him, and with growing eagerness he ventured his hand beneath her shirt.

He had just eased the material past her rib cage when she pulled away slightly. "Not yet," she said.

The signal was back on. He slid his hand down her side slowly, warming the smooth flesh with his departing touch, and slipped it out from under her shirt. "Sorry," he muttered. "I was not sure if, as with that first kiss, you were awaiting me to…"

"Listen, Sayid, I know it's been a long time for both of us, even longer for me--"

"Longer for you?" Sayid's confused eyes searched hers. "Shannon died well before Charlie."

Claire examined the blanket. "Yeah, but Charlie and I, we never actually…you know."

"What?" Sayid was unable to control his surprise. "You were together for…for…How could you _possibly _deny him that long?" He cringed internally. He hadn't thought about how his words might sound before he had spoken them. They had simply…rolled out.

"Look," demanded Claire, and her angry tone startled him. He knew she could sometimes be transformed, almost shy one minute, and painfully insistent the next. He had seen her yell at and even slap Charlie, but it seemed she had always only done so with good cause. Sayid had never expected to provoke the defensive side of Claire. "You don't know anything about my relationship with Charlie, okay? You don't know what it was like to… you just don't know!"

"I am sorry, Claire, for my hasty judgment. If you choose, please explain."

She seemed to him irritated and anxious and guilty all at once. "Well, it's difficult to…look, I really cared for Charlie. I really did. And he could be so sweet to me, and he watched out for me, and he really loved Aaron. And I wanted to…I wanted to, but he could be weird, too, you know."

Sayid did not reply with the obvious "yes." He merely waited for her to continue.

"I never felt quite sure, fully sure, whether he was using or not. And I believed he wasn't, but he could be so fickle…and I just wanted to make sure I always had the option of walking away if I needed to. I had to have that option because of Aaron, you understand?"

"I understand your desire to shelter your child from any instability, but then why did you sleep in the same tent as Charlie, kiss him, and--"

"Because I _wanted _to be with him. But I was afraid if I gave him that one thing, I'd be giving him that one last bit of my heart I was holding back. And I had to hold that bit back because if I didn't, then I might not be able to walk away if the time came. I'm not very strong, Sayid."

Sayid opened his mouth to protest, but she did not allow him. "I had to make sure I didn't place myself in a position that would make it difficult for me to move on. Just in case. For Aaron. And for me."

Sayid looked away, out at the listless ocean waves, which were undulating almost soundlessly in the dark distance. He didn't know quite what to say.

"You're worried it's going to be a long time before I let you…" She stopped talking.

He did not think it judicious to answer honestly, so he did not answer at all.

"Well, don't worry. You aren't Charlie," she assured him. "I'm not afraid I'm going to wake up one morning and find you in the middle of the ocean with Aaron. But sex means a lot to me. And I'm not there yet. You'll have to accept that, because I'm through with the whole idea of changing anything about myself just to try to hold onto a man. "

"Claire," he said, in a tone that hinted he thought she was overreacting, "we have only been dating for a short time. Though I would certainly like to make love to you if you are willing, I do not expect it, not now, and not any time soon. Nor do I regard that intimacy as lightly as you seem to think I do." It was not as if he was looking to conquer her and move on. Once they experienced that closeness, he assumed that—as long she didn't choose to walk away—matters would eventually conclude with him sharing her bed, her hut, and her life. It wasn't that he was in any particular hurry to commit himself, it was simply that he expected relationships to follow a logical progression, and that idea did not frighten him. "Nevertheless," he continued, "you must admit you have just dropped something of a warhead with regard to Charlie."

"You mean a bombshell?"

He nodded.

"Okay, I have. I'm sure everybody thought Charlie and I were going at it like rabbits."

"Well, I would not phrase it thus," he mumbled with some embarrassment. He smiled when he realized she was joking. "You are not angry with me?"

"No. Are you with me?" she asked.

"I have no reason to be."

Claire slid close to him, put an arm behind his strong back, and rested her head lightly on his shoulder. "Wow, that was easy. Sawyer is going to be so disappointed."

"Sawyer?" he asked.

"No angst to entertain him."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The irrigation system that supplied the beach settlement with fresh water had experienced a minor cave in, and Sawyer and Sayid were now repairing the problem. Hurley joined them, even though he rarely assisted with these types of tasks, explaining that the labor would be good for his figure.

Sawyer flipped his unkempt bangs from his eyes to peer at the young man. "Who you need to get in shape for, Hurley Burley? All the pretty ladies are taken."

Hurley's large shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug. "Well…not all of them."

Sayid and Sawyer both glanced at one another questioningly and then looked back at Hurley.

"Do tell," said the southerner suggestively. "I hope you ain't angling for Mohammed's girlfriend. Although… "--he drew out the word – "you might have a chance, 'cause I don't think he's quite managed to seal the deal. At least, I ain't noticed no overnight guests coming out of her hut in the morning."

Instead of reacting the way he wished too, Sayid plunged his shovel viciously into the irrigation ditch and lifted a clod of earth onto the bank.

"Nah. I used to be sweet on Claire," Hurley admitted, and Sayid glanced up at him briefly. "For like a couple of weeks," he assured the Iraqi. "Like three months ago."

"So," demanded Sawyer, "who's the unlucky lady then? Better not be that widow woman Angela, because she's twice your age, and I think Locke's got his eye on her."

Sayid appeared to be concentrating on his digging, but he was not ignoring the conversation. He could not help but be curious about the object of Hurley's admiration.

When Hurley still did not muster an answer, Sawyer continued, "And if you say Kate, this shovel's digging your grave."

"Rebekah."

"That jailbate?" Sawyer asked.

"She turned eighteen last month," Hurley insisted defensively. "And she's very mature."

Sawyer grinned wickedly. "Barely legal." He laughed. "Or maybe not. Now that's something the council has yet to rule on. No age of consent laws here on the island. If I was on the council, I'd put in a good word for you, Big Lover, but as you know, no one wanted to vote for me." He turned to Sayid. "So you'll have to petition Ali Baba here, or maybe my girl Kate."

"I'm on the council, too," Hurley reminded him.

"What do you say?" Sawyer asked Sayid. "What was the age of consent in Iraq?"

Sayid stopped digging. "It was twenty-one," he replied with a stern, serious face, looking directly at Hurley. "I think that would be the reasonable age I would support."

Hurley looked suddenly concerned, but then his round cheeks gave way to a great smile when Sayid broke into a low chuckle. "Sawyer's rubbing off on you way too much, dude. You used to be much nicer to me." Now Hurley was laughing and shaking his finger at the Iraqi. "Hey, but if you had been serious, I would have pointed out that Shannon was only about twenty. And you're, like, waaay older than me."

Sayid climbed out of the ditch and took a seat on the edge. "Indeed. I am positively ancient. I had better rest now lest I throw out my back."

"Oh, yeah," howled Sawyer in vocal delight, "I forgot how much Ishmael likes to pluck the fruit when it's just ripe. Claire's a young one too." His dimples were making their deepest impression now as he turned to Sayid. "Ain't that right, old man?"

Sayid cleared his throat. He could manage to find Sawyer amusing in small doses, but there was always a point at which the southerner began to press against his limit. Fortunately, Sawyer shifted his target. "So, my corpulent Casanova, do you have a plan to seduce this girl?"

Hurley, who had himself returned to digging, paused for a moment and rested against his shovel. He looked serious. "Do you think you can only have one true love in your life?" he asked.

Sawyer let out a loud snorting sound. "What, are we in the girls' locker room here?"

"No, seriously," Hurley said. "'Cause, like, before she died, I really thought Libby was going to be the one, you know?"

Sawyer just laughed and went back to digging.

"What do you think, Sayid?" Hurley asked. "I mean, sure, I know I could love again, but could I ever have another true love do you think?"

"I do not understand your question. How can you have a love that is not true? Then it is not love."

"Dude, I mean, do you think I could ever love Rebekah as much as I loved Libby?"

Sawyer looked at the two conversing men, rolled his eyes, and shook his head.

"Hurley, I would not concern yourself with these thoughts. If you like the young lady, ask her to take a walk with you. If she appears to likes you, take her on a picnic. Become acquainted. Eventually, perhaps, you will find that the question is irrelevant." Sayid slid back into the ditch.

"So, dude, are you in love with Claire?"

Sayid reclaimed his shovel. He turned up one palm and gestured across the width of the irrigation ditch. "You may see that Sawyer is at least correct in this: we are not, in fact, standing in a girls' locker room."

Hurley took the hint and resumed digging.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Sometimes it requires a girlfriend to convince a man his clothes are wearing out, and today Sayid had forsaken his favorite singlet—what was left of it—for a less practical but more complete button down shirt. He was glad of it now as he approached Claire where she had just recovered an adventurous Aaron from the surf. In the process, her white t-shirt had been drenched. It was still early in the morning, and the settlement was just beginning to stir with life. Sayid surmised Aaron must have bolted from the hut at the crack of dawn, because it was now quite apparent that Claire had merely thrown on the shirt with nothing underneath. He struggled, but failed, to direct his eyes to Claire's face as he removed his shirt.

"Are you going for a swim?" she asked him as she eyed his naked chest.

"No." He extended the shirt towards her. "You might want to wear it back to your hut, until you can get changed."

She followed his gaze downward and saw the reason for his offer. She let out a quick gasp, grabbed the shirt from his hands, and threw it on. "I didn't realize…" She looked in his gleaming eyes and said with affectionate reproof, "But apparently you did."

As Claire buttoned up, Sayid redirected his attention to Aaron, who was again toddling toward the surf. He corralled the child with one arm.

"Aaron's always running ahead of me. He's way too young to be moving that fast." Claire's voice sounded frazzled. It had obviously been an early and difficult morning.

"Well, he was walking at nine months." Sayid lifted the boy and deposited him on his shoulders. "Allow me to walk you to your hut. You should go back to sleep. I will watch Aaron."

Claire glanced at him with weary gratitude. As they began to return toward the huts, she said, "I wish I could get him to mind me a little better."

"He merely requires a little discipline." As soon as the words were out, and her eyes began to shift lividly in his direction, he realized that it had been precisely the wrong thing to say. _Even if it is true._

"So you know all about raising kids now, do you? What, you think I just let him run wild?"

Sayid considered his words carefully. "I know nothing of raising children. But I know something of headstrong and rambunctious boys, having been one myself. Or so I was told."

To his relief, she smiled. Perhaps his caution had placated her. He could hope.

"I can believe it," she said. "The headstrong part anyway. It's hard for me to imagine you being unruly."

He chuckled softly. Securing Aaron's legs with one hand to make sure the boy did not slip from his shoulders, he took Claire's hand with his other. "If you approve, I would like to take Aaron fishing today. Jin is taking the raft out on the lake, and Aaron could help us."

"Help?"

"He could watch." Sayid squeezed her hand. "What do you say?"

She glanced over at Sayid with a strange expression. He would have thought it was conniving, if it had been on the face of anyone but Claire. "I think it's a good idea," she said. "It'll be good for…both of you." Before she turned her gaze away, he noticed her appraising his bare torso with unrestrained appreciation. It wasn't quite fair, he thought, that she could do so with impunity.

_Patience_, he commanded himself. _The waiting makes it better._

Jin did most of his fishing in the ocean, but occasionally, for the sake of variety, he sought out the less plentiful freshwater fish in one of the interior lakes on the island. Jin still used a net for this task, but Sayid had fashioned a fishing pole for Aaron, who delighted in tossing it in the water, leaving it for approximately three seconds, and then ripping it back.

"Noise, movement—too much," Jin said solemnly. "No fish today."

"We will take him back in half an hour," Sayid conceded. "Let him have his fun for now." He believed the boy could benefit from a steady male influence. Sayid never would have said so to Claire, but Aaron was, in fact, a bit rowdy, and she _did _sometimes seem to let him run wild, so that he often found his way into the surf, or rummaged through some strange berry patch, or stumbled into an open hut. Under his watchful eye, however, Sayid was certain the boy would behave himself better. The Iraqi had stated the rules of conduct for their outing to Aaron clearly and decisively, and he knew that the primary thing required to make Aaron more compliant was a definite sense of authority. With that unwavering presence securely in place, there was no doubt that—

The sound of splashing water rudely interrupted Sayid's reflections. How had the boy managed to leap, undetected, from the raft? His heart beating with sudden fear, Sayid plunged into the lake and recovered Aaron quickly. The child was gasping and sputtering until he was safely returned to the raft, and then he began crying. This, fortunately, only lasted about two minutes.

Sayid, after recovering his breath, shook his head in bewilderment. "I explained to him he must remain near me at all times."

Jin laughed with closed lips, the sound reverberating in his throat and mouth and causing his chest to rumble. Finally, he spoke. "Toddler. No reasoning, Sayid. No reasoning."

Aaron looked from one man to the other. Then he looked back at the water. The boy stood up quickly. "Do again!" he yelled.

"No!" exclaimed Jin and Sayid in unison.

When they returned to the beach an hour later, Aaron's clothes had not yet dried. Sayid had hoped they could play in the sun for awhile, and Claire would be none the wiser. But she intercepted them just as they returned, took one glance at her son, and asked, "What happened?"

Sayid looked sheepishly at the sand and nudged the boy forward. "You are a long-suffering woman, Claire," he said. "Aaron is fortunate to have you for a mother."

Claire hugged Aaron against her legs. "Mhmm," she said with mildly curved lips. "And did you learn a lesson today?"

"Fish!" Aaron said.

"I wasn't asking you. Sayid?"

Sayid humbly met her gloating eyes. "Yes."

She released Aaron and kissed Sayid briefly but solidly. The kiss was chaste, as their kisses always were in the presence of Aaron, but she teased Sayid with a quick thrust of her tongue before pulling away, turning to the boy, and shouting, "Chase you!"

Sayid watched them run off together and slowly followed. Her laughter floated back to him, and the sound buoyed his spirits. Not long ago, Claire had been nothing but a friend. He had thought well enough of her, but why had he failed to notice just how tolerant she was, how kind, how beautiful, how…enticing? He quickened his pace to catch up with the pair.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Sawyer and Sayid were laboring on an extension for the common dining table when Kate approached and offered the southerner a bottle of water. He thanked her with a pat on the bottom, which she received with rolled eyes until she had turned from him, and then her face admitted a smile. When she saw Sayid she shrugged as though to say, "What do you expect? It's Sawyer. I knew what I was getting." Then she shifted the baby in the sling she had draped about her shoulder.

As Kate began to walk back down the shore, Sayid thought of those early days after the crash, when he had admired her for her courage. He recalled, faintly, the strength of his desire to protect her from Sawyer's advances. He remembered, too, the gratitude he had felt when she had been the only one to see him off on that solitary journey he had taken after falling into old ways. She had been there at the start of another lonely trek as well, at Shannon's grave, late in the night, after all the other survivors had faded back into the routines of life.

He ran a sanding rock across the splintered edge of a beam and said, before he had even realized it, "You do not deserve that woman."

"Nope," answered Sawyer. "I don't deserve much of anything good I've had in life." Then he came over and leaned in close to the Iraqi. His eyes were hard-set when he spoke. "Ain't it lucky, Torquemada, that we don't often get what we deserve?"

"Yes," the Iraqi agreed, and there was a tinge of penance in his voice. "Would you help me tighten this beam?"

When they were finished with the task, Sayid paused for a drink of water and then asked, "What _are _you getting Kate for Christmas?"

"Aha!" Sawyer leered. "So, despite all your posturing, you don't know what to get Claire. You're fishing for ideas."

"Hardly. I am merely curious as to what you have determined to get your wife."

Sawyer snorted. "You're the only one who calls her that."

"Calls her what?"

"My wife. We ain't married you know."

"Not formally." Sayid returned to work on the table. "And why have you failed to make it official? It is no longer like the old days, when there was no mechanism for such things. We have a community record book. You could at least--"

Sawyer promptly changed the subject. "I've still got a few things from the old stash. You looking to buy something for your girl? It won't come cheap."

"I was rather hoping to give Claire something that did not belong to a woman who died tragically. Do you think Kate will be content with such a gift?"

Sawyer's grin faltered.

The Iraqi shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, I am certain you know her well enough."

Sawyer picked up a beam and flung it with force on top of the table. "Damn," he muttered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

As the days passed, Claire's Christmas preparations intensified. She had to give up the idea of a proper tree as the jungle offered nothing to her satisfaction, but Sayid did furnish her with a large, bush like plant that she attempted to decorate.

She now looked conspiratorially at Sayid and whispered, "Is Aaron busy?" The Iraqi glanced into the boy's bedroom—such as it was, demarked only by a curtain divide—and reported that he was playing. Smiling, Claire slipped a smooth, aqua stone into the boy's stocking. Sayid had noticed Aaron's recent fascination with gathering rocks, and it would no doubt be a jewel in the toddler's collection.

"I thought you did not fill the stockings until Christmas Eve," Sayid remarked.

"Well, sometimes Santa's elves come early and leave little treats."

"Hurley informs me that neither Santa nor his elves come until late on Christmas Eve. He insists everyone must be soundly sleeping, or no gifts will be forthcoming."

Claire shrugged. "Everyone has different traditions. It's not like there's a Christmas lawbook or anything."

Sayid glanced at his stocking, which hung on the other side of Aaron's. He would not admit how delighted he was with the idea of having his very own stocking, but seeing Claire hang it had pleased him, not because he cared about the tradition, but because it seemed to imply that she had accepted him as a semi-fixed part of her life. "Did the elves leave me any early treats?" he asked, reaching out to slip a hand inside the large, slightly deformed knitted sock.

Claire gently slapped his fingers. "No peeking."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her against his chest. Trailing kisses on her neck, cheek, and ear, he murmured, "Please, let me look. Just _one _early treat. A little one would satisfy."

"We have to wait until Christmas to look in the stockings," she insisted.

"Then why do you tempt me with words and shapes? I can tell something is in there by the way the fabric stretches."

She laughed and kissed him and nipped at his ear. "Be a good boy, Sayid," she whispered, "or Santa won't let you have any treats at all." She broke free of his grip and walked around him to adjust the decorations on the "tree." He was about to wrap his arms around her waist and draw her back when Sawyer's voice boomed through the doorway, "Hellloooo, anybody home?"

Sayid went to the door, where he greeted Sawyer with a glowering countenance.

"What's wrong, Lothario? I interrupt something? I figured you couldn't get much accomplished with the midget about, anyway."

"What do you want, Sawyer?"

"Same thing everybody wants. Some more of Claire's mouth-watering berry sauce."

"Don't mock me!" came Claire's protest from behind Sayid.

"Don't worry, mamacita, we ain't asking you to prepare any food this time. Due to your…obsession…with the holiday, Hurley, grand master of ceremonies, has decided that you'll play Santa and distribute gifts at the banquet. I attempted to point out to him that his own figure was more suited to the role, but he insisted on giving you the honor."

Claire smiled broadly. "Did you hear that?" she asked Sayid excitedly. "I'm going to be Santa Clause."

"No dressing up in any tight, bright red suits, though," Sawyer insisted. "Wouldn't want to get the infidel's blood racing on the holiest of days in the Christian calendar."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Actually, it's not the holiest—"

"Whatever, Mrs. Clause, just be prepared to pass out the presents. Everyone's going to leave 'em in the pantry with labels and what not. Rule is—only give gifts to your own family—and yes boyfriends and girlfriends count—oh, yeah, and everyone has to give one gift to the white elephant pile. Got it?"

Claire nodded.

"Good. Mission accomplished. Now I'll let you get back to business." Sawyer winked at the Iraqi, ducked from the doorway, and headed down the beach toward the next hut.

"You look confused," Claire said to Sayid when they were alone again.

"I am trying to envision what a white elephant pile looks like, and I am trying to imagine why you would wish to give gifts to it. Also, I must admit that the connection between elephants and the birth of the son of Mary eludes me. Surely Christians do not believe there were elephants among the lowing sheep?"

He would apparently have to wait some time for his answer, because Claire was too busy laughing.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Remember when you, like, welded Sawyer's glasses together?" Hurley had just approached Sayid where he sat at his workbench, making measurements with a compass and updating the latest island map. Eko sat beside him and indicated various minor discoveries based on his latest trek; the priest liked occasionally to make solitary pilgrimages about the island. Sawyer lay on his side a few feet a way, his elbow in the sand and his head propped up against his palm. He bit into a juicy mango and watched Kate in the distance as she waded into the ocean while holding their boy.

Sayid put down his pencil and squatted back in the sand. "That seems another lifetime ago." And how many lifetimes had he lived since Iraq? How many hopes, how many disappointments, how many losses, and how many new beginnings?

"Well," Hurley continued, "I was wondering if you could, like make that candlestick thing for Rebekah? That aura?"

Eko laughed, a low, deep tone. "You mean a menorah?"

"Yeah."

"What would you know, Father Brown?" Sawyer chimed in, rising from his reclined position and walking the few feet to join the group. "Ain't nothing about Chanukkah in your Bible."

"In my Bible," Eko intoned, launching into full exemplum mode, "you will discover the story of the Maccabees. In the reign of Antiochus, when the temple was purified, for eight days—"

"Spare me the details," Sawyer interrupted.

"That story," concluded Eko, "is indeed in my Bible, though it is not in Rebekah's."

Sawyer snorted and sunk his teeth into the mango. Wiping the juice off his chin, he said, "Yeah, right. The story of Chanukkah in the Catholic Bible but not the Jewish one. And the Koran says Christ was born of a virgin. You and Sayid are going to have to come up with better ways to pull my leg."

Eko smiled broadly. He shrugged his large, muscular shoulders.

"Hurley," said Sayid, with apologetic eyes, "I do not believe I have the talent to create such a thing through welding. Repairing a pair of glasses is nothing like—"

"You should ask Donovan," Sawyer interrupted him. "I just found out he used to be a welder before he was a paramedic." Hurley looked suddenly optimistic, but his shoulders slumped when Sawyer continued, "But you ain't gonna find enough usable metal to do it."

Sayid saw the despondent posture of the young man and sympathized with Hurley's attempts to do a kind thing for the girl who had captured his attention. "Perhaps I could carve one for you," he suggested. "I have recently been practicing a great deal with wood, and my skill has improved."

"Yeah?" Hurley's voice rang with hope. "Because she, like, needs it by tonight."

Sayid bit his lip slightly and momentarily regretted his offer. "That is rather short notice, Hurley." He gestured toward the maps. "I had planned—"

"Please?" the young man begged.

Sayid nodded.

"So, then, is Golda coming to the Christmas banquet?" Sawyer brought the remnants of the mango to his lips and suckled the juices.

"Rebekha," Hurley said, a little tensely. "And yeah. In fact, I'm her secret Santa." All of the survivors who did not have family or a significant other had been assigned a secret Santa, so that no one would be left without a gift.

"Whatcha gonna get her?" Sawyer asked with a smug smile. "Because Mohammed's still at a loss for ideas."

Sayid sighed and went back to ticking off measurements on his map. As he began his work, he said, "I believe you are the one who requires inspiration, _Jimmy_."

"Nah. Kate's gonna love my gift. It'll put yours to shame."

Sayid lowered the compass. "How can you possibly make such a claim? You have no idea what I intend to give Claire."

"Whatever it is, it ain't as good as what I'm getting Freckles. I'll tell you that right now. Your gonna lose this one."

"I was not aware gift giving was a competition," Sayid replied. "Is Santa the judge of that, as well as the judge of who is naughty and nice?"

"All I'm saying is," Sawyer simpered, "if you want Claire to be naughty, you better start thinking about that gift."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

In the glow of candlelight and the oil lamp Sayid sanded the splinters off the runners of Claire's rocking chair. Locke had made it for her when the huts were first built, and Claire said that when the hunter delivered it, Aaron called him "Geepa." That, Sayid thought, must have forever turned John off to the idea of pursuing Claire. That was well, and for more reasons than one: Locke had since found a mate, and Claire had never been forced to disappoint him.

When he was done, Sayid turned the chair right side up and rose. He peeked behind the cloth divide and saw that Aaron was soundly sleeping. The Iraqi felt an unexpected wave of tenderness coupled with a strong desire to protect the boy. Sayid had always treated Aaron well, of course, but he had not involved himself in the boy's life until he had begun dating Claire, and he wasn't quite sure when Aaron had managed to worm his way into his heart.

Sayid had agreed to keep an eye on the boy while Claire attended the midnight Christmas Eve mass. Eko's small flock had doubled for the occasion. The regulars were all there: Rose, who often attended even though she was a Protestant; Bernard, who did whatever his wife demanded of him; Locke, who could never manage to pass up an opportunity to witness any mystical ritual, whether he ascribed to it or not; Hurley, Steve, Donovan, Nikki, and, finally, Claire, who was not sure she believed all the details, but who nonetheless found succor in the overarching story. Tonight this core had been joined by others, whom Sawyer had contemptuously dubbed the C&E Christians. (Sayid was still attempting to decipher that one.) Among them, much to Sawyer's chagrin, was Kate.

Sayid now wandered over to the mantle and glanced at his stocking. He touched the material cautiously and considered looking inside. Claire would never know. Or would she? She was more perceptive than he had imagined. She had grown quite sensitive to his moods, however tightly he believed he was controlling his emotions. When he was upset and was forcing the raw feeling deep inside, sealing it off with a stone face, she would ask him what was wrong. When he was irritated by someone (usually Sawyer) and was controlling the gathering rage--he thought quite coolly--she would notice and touch his arm or shoulder soothingly. When he was weary from his labors but too determined to take the time to rest, she would always seem to appear with a drink and a distracting smile.

Yes, if he looked in the stocking, she would surely know. And Claire was so endearingly zealous about her Christmas traditions that he deemed it best not to tempt fate. He turned away from the mantle.

When Christmas morning arrived, Sayid joined Claire and Aaron in their hut to participate in the opening of the stockings. The couple watched as Aaron overturned his and, in one maneuver, scattered its contents on the ground. The boy was delighted with the collection of rocks, to which Sayid had himself added a number.

Sayid had not been certain what he was supposed to put in Claire's stocking, so he was happy to see that she seemed to be pleased by its contents. She now held up a small airplane bottle of amaretto. "How could there _possibly _be any of these left?"

"Sawyer was hiding one."

"That must have been a very expensive stocking stuffer, Sayid."

He shrugged. It had been—he had agreed to take Sawyer's place on the night patrol rotation for the next three months, which would mean he now had to serve several times a month. Some thought the patrols were no longer necessary, as there had been no trouble with the Others since the truce, and they grumbled when it was their turn to serve. But no one seriously suggested dismantling the system, and everyone slept better at night because of it.

"Now, you understand, stockings don't count as _real _presents," Claire told him. "They're just little, silly treats. Don't expect anything special in yours."

Sayid nodded solemnly, but it was with an almost childish expression of delight that he began to rummage in his own. She was right—it was nothing much—a mango, a Dharma pen from the last discovered hatch, and a small roll of paper—but he was content simply to be included in the family ritual. The pen, actually, was quite practical. He now retracted the ballpoint with satisfaction and wondered for a moment what his real gift would be.

Later that afternoon, they made their way to the Christmas banquet. Sayid glanced at the official gift table before they were seated for the meal. Most of the presents had been wrapped in large, tropical leaves or other jungle scatterings; they were tied with long, thick grasses and labeled with slips of paper. He attempted to find the gift Claire had labeled for him, so that he might venture a guess as to its contents, but before he could seek it out, she was tugging him towards the table.

The survivors dined happily, and the common hall, shaded by a palm-thatched awning, was alive with conversation. Sayid watched as Hurley ventured to the cauldron to pour a cup of hot fruit cider, and he smiled mildly as the young man began speaking to Rebekah. Claire put an arm around Sayid's shoulder and whispered into his ear, "So, has he asked her out yet?"

"Not to my knowledge."

Suddenly, Sawyer began banging on the table with a spoon and chanting, "Kiss her, Kiss her, Kiss her!" in Hurley's direction. Desmond laughed and joined in, with both implement and voice.

Sayid was rather taken aback by the crude chorus, certain it must be positively mortifying to Hurley, who had not so much as made his interest known. So when Claire also joined in the chant, he looked at her in shock. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "How can you encourage Sawyer and Desmond like that?"

"It's a Christmas tradition, Sayid."

"Humiliating love-smitten young men?"

"No, they're under the mistletoe," Claire insisted, pointing at a plant hanging down from the awning and just over the heads of Hurley and Rebekah. "Well, it's not really a mistletoe, but it's the closest thing we could find, and everybody knows what it's _supposed _to be."

"Everybody?" Sayid asked.

"The tradition is, if you're caught with someone under the mistletoe, you have to kiss the person."

Well, thought Sayid, that tradition, if a bit strange, was indeed preferable to senseless mockery. He smiled as Hurley bent in to offer Rebekah a timid peck on the lips. The young lady blushed meanly, but she did not seem to dislike his attention.

Hurley stepped quickly away from Rebekah and the mistletoe and interrupted Sawyer's lewd whistling noises by announcing loudly, "Claire should start playing Santa now and hand out the gifts."

"Wait, Hurley, before I hand out the real presents, let's play the white elephant game."

"Oh, yeah, this is going to be great," the big man said, forgetting his embarrassment and walking toward the center of the table. "Okay, dudes, listen up! The white elephant gifts are all in this bag here—" he pointed to a tarp sack. "I'm going to pass out the numbers now." He began to walk around with a coconut bowl filled with little slips of paper.

Sayid had added a gift to the sack several days ago, as he had been instructed to do, but Claire had teasingly refused to explain to him the concept of the white elephant, and he had more or less forgotten about the whole affair until now. He watched carefully as each survivor took a piece of paper and unfolded it. Claire had the number 17. When Hurley extended the bowl to him, Sayid reached in and grabbed a slip. After unfolding it, he turned to Claire. "Number one. That is very good, yes?"

She giggled. "No. It's very bad."

His eyes narrowed. "Will it make it impossible for me to win?"

"There are no winners, Sayid. It's just for fun."

"A game no one can win. What precisely, then, is the--"

She shushed him and nodded towards Hurley, who was beginning to explain the proceedings. "Okay, dudes, so, like whoever has number one goes first."

Sayid waited anxiously to discover what he must be the first to do.

"You take a present—any present—sight unseen from the white elephant pile in this bag." Hurley motioned to the blue tarp sack. "Then whoever has number two gets to take your present from you or one from the bag. Number three gets to take either of the two open presents, or one from the bag. And it keeps going like that. So the last person gets his pick of any open present—or the last one in the bag." Hurley began to sit down and then stood again. "Oh, yeah, and if you get your present taken from you, you open a replacement from the pile."

"I see," Sayid muttered to Claire. "I have no choice but a single blind one. Everyone else has multiple options."

Sayid did as he was bid and took a random present from the bag. He unwrapped it to discover a paisley shirt so hideous and loud that he had never before seen any man wear it. "Oh," he said. "Thank you. It really is quite…colorful."

Claire's burst of laughter caused him to look in her direction. "It's okay, Sayid. You don't have to pretend to like it. It's a white elephant gift. That's the point. The gifts are all things the givers don't want."

"Then I do not have to wear it?" he asked in a hopeful voice.

"No," Claire answered through her laughter.

"What a relief," he muttered as he sat down beside her and placed the crumpled paisley shirt on the table.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Sayid did not hold onto his paisley shirt for long. Number 13 was Desmond, and he chose to take the gift from the Iraqi. "My shirts are growing a bit thin, brother. Who knows, I may actually look fetching in it." Sayid ended up with an eye patch.

The most popular gift, however, was the one Sayid had added to the bag. Not realizing what a white elephant was, he had attempted to contribute something thoughtful, and he had made a small wooden jewelry box. Sun secured that one after stealing it from Locke, and she sat down with her daughter in her lap to open it. The infant grabbed at the hinged top and attempted to drag it to her mouth. "No, no, no," murmured Jin, removing the tiny chest to a safe distance. The baby lunged for the box and nearly fell from her mother's lap. Jin took her and rested her against his chest. Sayid smiled at the couple and thought that Jin, who had laughed at Aaron's antics on the raft, would not be laughing in another year.

When the white elephant game had concluded, Claire set to work dispersing the real gifts. She called out names and delivered the gifts to the recipients, and people began immediately to unwrap their presents. Hurley mustered the courage to sit next to Rebekah when she received her gift, and he admitted to having been assigned as her secret Santa.

"Assigned?" she asked. "But weren't you in charge of the assignments yourself? And the banquet?"

"Uh…well….yeah."

She smiled at his discomfort and unwrapped the present. She took out a small, wooden dreidel.

"Do you like it?" Hurley asked anxiously.

She looked at him with lips that formed an irritated line. "You do realize that I'm eighteen and not eight, don't you?"

His mouth remained agape for a short time before he could manage, "Yeah, I just thought you might like something to remind you of home. I mean, I thought…"

"Hey, Einstien," called Sawyer from across the table. The southerner was apparently all ears today. "You know why she's mad, don't ya? She doesn't like the idea that you might think of her has a kid instead of a _woman_."

Rebekah looked down at the table, and for once Hurley appeared semi-grateful for Sawyer's crude intervention. He made his apologies and explained that he was well aware she was not a child. She shrugged and spun the dreidel and smiled softly. "It's okay," she said. "It's the thought that counts. I just didn't know what you were _thinking._ How did you make it?"

"I had help," he admitted. "Frogurt painted the letters for me." He looked a little sheepish. "I don't even know what they mean."

"It stands for _Nes Gadol Hayah Sham_. A great miracle happened there." She picked up the dreidel, which had fallen on its side. "A miracle kind of happened here, too, didn't it? I mean, that we survived the crash and the battles with the Others. That we're still surviving. More than surviving now. Living." She spun the dreidel and began to sing softly, "Who can retell the things that befell us, who can count them?"

As Hurley watched her sing, Aaron tore into his present from his mother. Claire had knitted him a pair of socks, to which he reacted with the great excitement that only a toddler could possibly feel for such a gift. He immediately put them on his hands and laughed.

Claire grabbed hold of the next present and seemed puzzled. "Another one for Aaron." Sayid felt her glancing at him and saw a curious expression on her face he could not quite read. "From Sayid."

Claire handed Aaron the gift, which turned out to be a wooden top. In shape, it looked suspiciously like the dreidel that had been carved for Rebekah, except that the sides were painted not with Hebrew letters but with English ones. This gift delighted the boy even more than the socks. Claire then grabbed the last present on the table, the one Sayid had labeled for her, and sat beside him. He leaned close to her and whispered, "Was I not supposed to give a gift to Aaron?"

"Oh…I don't know…Sawyer said to give only to girlfriends and boyfriends and family, but I'm very glad you did. I'm glad you think of Aaron that way. Look, he loves it."

Aaron was attempting to spin the top, but he hadn't quite caught the hang of it, and instead he was rolling it across the table and laughing every time he managed to make it move.

"Sawyer!" came Kate's cry from the other end of the table, and her outburst caught the attention of every survivor because she had said the name neither in admonishment nor in annoyance. She had actually said his name in delight. Everyone waited to see what Sawyer could possibly have done right, especially Sayid, whose gift to Claire remained unopened on the table.

The survivors watched as Sawyer slipped a studded band on Kate's ring finger. The southerner glanced victoriously at Sayid before explaining to the group at large, "I had Donovan weld it together for me. Now the wedding ring's made from the jewels in my own cuff links and a silver baby spoon, so it didn't come off of no dead woman!"

Desmond appeared slightly puzzled. "But it came off a dead baby, then?"

Sawyer glared at the Scott. "Hell, no, you sick, little, haggis-eating mood killer. There weren't any babies on the plane. Someone must have been traveling with the spoon to visit a new nephew or something."

"So, does this mean you desire to have a ceremony?" Eko asked.

"No religious hocus pocus," Sawyer insisted. "But…" he nodded "…yeah, we'll do something public." He waved a hand casually. "Write it down in the community record book. Date it and everything."

Claire abandoned Sayid's unopened present to go admire the ring and congratulate Kate. By the time she returned, Sayid was beginning to admit to himself that he was just a little bit nervous. She smiled at him and began to open her gift. He had made her a wooden locket necklace. The string was simple; the locket portion, however, he had carved by hand, and it had required several attempts to perfect the delicate design in the wood. That kind of precise whittling was a new skill for him, but, with much frustration and persistence, he had eventually succeeded in carving the near-perfect image of a blossoming rose, which she had once said was her favorite flower.

She looked up at him, and to his relief, smiled brightly. "It's beautiful. Did you make it yourself?"

"Yes."

"I love it, but…"

Uh, oh. There was a "but"?

"…what am I supposed to put in it? I don't have any pictures. And we can't take any."

Sayid's face grew suddenly concerned. "Oh. I had not even thought of that."

"I know," she said excitedly. "I'll put a lock of Aaron's hair in it."

Sayid smiled and accepted her quick thank you kiss. He then found himself glancing at the empty gift table. It appeared that all the presents had been distributed, yet there was nothing resting before him. Was there a reason Claire had failed to offer him a gift? He looked at her, but she seemed wholly unaware of her omission.

Sawyer had said that women read a great deal into gifts, but Sayid was a man, and he needn't concern himself with this single, insignificant oversight. Truly, he assured himself, it was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

"So, what did you end up getting her? A string and a piece of wood?" Sawyer swung a leg over the bench to sit next to Sayid. The women had congregated once again around Kate and were talking about whatever it was women talked about at times such as these. Sayid had been watching Claire's lips as she spoke and laughed, and he was wondering what she was saying to Sawyer's wife, or fiancé, or whatever he was supposed to call her.

Sayid did not dignify him with a response, but he filled the cup Sawyer extended to him with a drought of fruit wine from one of the wooden pitchers on the table. "More importantly," Sawyer took a slow slurp of his drink, "what did she get you? 'Cause, you know, that might give you some idea how serious she is. You've got to be wondering. I mean, damn, she strung Charlie on forever." The southerner brought his face level with Sayid's. "I even heard rumors they never did it at all."

Sayid gritted his teeth, but he would not allow himself to be provoked. He had tortured the man once, after all. Sawyer's brand of tormenting was far milder, though perhaps it held a bit more personal spite. But there was a kind of strange affection in it too. It wasn't as if the man knew any other way to make friends.

"So?" Sawyer prompted. "What she get you?"

"That is not your concern." Sayid looked deliberately away. After he had suppressed his irritation, he nodded toward Kate. "Congratulations on your pending nuptials."

"Yeah, well, I figured you were right after all. I pretty much did already buy the cow. Might as well sign the deed of sale so I have proof of ownership, 'cause I sure as hell can't get a refund at this point."

"I have no idea what your cryptic farm analogy means, but it does not sound flattering."

Sawyer swished the liquid around in his cup. Sayid assumed he must have emptied and refilled that cup a number of times, because he actually asked, "Why do you think she loves me?" Sayid just shook his head lightly. "No, really," Sawyer continued, "there must be a reason. Does Claire ever tell you anything Kate says about me?"

"I am certain Kate must have some justification. Perhaps you should ask her instead of me."

"Nah," Sawyer said and took another swallow. "So what _did _Claire get you?"

Sayid felt a light hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Claire and was relieved to have been spared from answering. "It's getting late," she said, "and I'm tired. Will you walk me back to my hut?"

Sayid nodded and left Sawyer's side. Claire took his hand and began leading him away. "Haven't you forgotten something?" he asked. "Aaron?"

"He fell asleep in the sand. Rose and Bernard said they'll keep an eye on him and bring him home in the morning."

Perhaps the convenience of this arrangement would have been noteworthy to him if his mind were not preoccupied with Sawyer's words about the meaning of gifts. When they reached her hut, Claire gasped. "Oh no, I forgot to bring your gift to the banquet."

Sayid thought the relief he presently felt should not have been so great; after all, her omission really had been a matter of no consequence.

"Wait here," she insisted. "I haven't wrapped it yet. I'll tell you when you can come in."

After he had waited for what seemed like a very long time, he tapped on the door and called, "I really do not need it to be wrapped, Claire. May I come in?"

When she answered in the affirmative, he stepped into the hut. The interior was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, and Claire had spread a blanket in front of the "tree" near the mantle. His first thought was, _Why is she wearing my shirt? _She had on the button-downed article he had forgotten to reclaim that day she had chased Aaron into the surf. And then he realized that was _all _she was wearing. Perhaps it was the most seductive clothing she could manage; she certainly had not packed any lingerie for her flight. Not that it mattered. She was breathtaking in her simplicity.

Sayid realized that, at the moment, he must appear less than sophisticated. But he was still processing the implications of her willing posture. He had not been expecting this moment tonight. He knew how much importance she placed on sex, so he knew that she was not simply offering him her body. Claire was offering him her whole heart, every last bit of it, nothing held back. She was holding out to him the entire beautiful, flawed, humble, determined, shy, courageous, girlish, womanly package.

The perfect present.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Sayid lay on his back and stared at the ceiling of the hut until his breathing leveled. Claire's passion had surprised him, but not so much as his own: he had not known the tender desire he felt for her harbored so much fire. He turned his head to look at her. He saw her bright smile and understood immediately that awkward phrase, "the heart lurched."

He patted his torso with his hand, and she accepted the invitation, curling herself against his side and resting her cheek on his chest. He looked back at the ceiling as he absently stroked her blonde hair. It felt as if every remnant of tension his body had ever housed had been drained out. It was difficult on this island--especially for a man trained to be a soldier--to feel truly relaxed. The rare sensation provided an almost narcotic effect, and he felt his heavy eyelids drawing irrepressibly downwards.

"Sayid?"

His eyes might have remained closed if her voice had only sounded musing; but it held a note of concern. He looked down at her and urged, "Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

"I told you, before, about how much this would mean to me. So for me, this changes everything about our relationship. But you…you would have been willing that first time we kissed. So, I was wondering…" He felt her fingers fluttering lightly, nervously, against his chest. "Does it change anything for you?"

He shifted onto his side so that he could look into her eyes, which in the flickering light of the candles appeared alternately tender and longing and happy and anxious. "Claire, you have just given me your heart. How could I not be changed?" He kissed her gently, and when he saw that she seemed satisfied with his answer, he returned to his former position.

After awhile, just in time to prevent him from drifting off to sleep, she said, "Thank you for tonight. I really needed this. I didn't know how much I needed it."

Sayid laughed softly. "I believe it is the recipient who should be thanking the giver, and not the other way around."

Claire raised herself up on one arm and smiled down at him. "But that's just the point, Sayid. Giving gifts isn't about receiving…there's so much more pleasure in giving."

The left side of his mouth alone curled. "I would beg to differ …I think there is considerable pleasure to be had in receiving."

She kissed his lips warmly before lying down again. It seemed so comfortable, so natural to feel her soft breast pressed against his firm chest, her slender leg draped over his powerful one, her fair skin blending seamlessly with his dark flesh.

His near slumber having been twice prevented, Sayid was now more alert. His mind began to plan as his eyes moved about the dimly lit hut. While leisurely stroking her back and shoulders, he said, "I think when I move in, I will build a wood partition where that curtain is, so that Aaron can truly have his own room and we can have more complete privacy."

He was startled by the sudden way Claire sat up. "What?" she asked.

"Is there some problem with the idea? I do not think Aaron would mind. He would likely be excited by the idea of having a space that is entirely his own."

"The partition is not a problem. It's the 'when you move in' part that I was wondering about. You just said it like…like we'd already discussed it."

His mouth dropped open, and he promptly closed it. It wasn't embarrassment that caused him to trip over his words; it was the sudden sinking sensation in his stomach. He had known he cared deeply for Claire; he had known he was attracted to her. But he had thought that by moving in he would be giving her what _she _wanted. He had not realized, until she hesitated, how desperately he desired to begin living life with her, beside her, for her. "Oh. Forgive me. I misunderstood. I thought all this meant…I thought you wanted us…"

"I do," she said, and he could feel his breath returning. "It's….I'm just surprised. That's all. I didn't know you were so…serious."

"What did you think you were getting in exchange for your heart, Claire?"

"I didn't care what I was getting. I just wanted to give."

He sat up now too and drew her sideways into his lap. He titled her chin and spoke to her with his eyes before speaking with his lips. "I feel honored to be loved by such a generous woman. I have no intention of letting go of this gift. Not now. Not ever." He kissed her intensely, and when at last their lips parted, he looked again into her eyes, examining them for some response. Her happiness appeared to be temporarily dwarfed by her astonishment.

Why did women always seem so bewildered by his willingness to commit himself? Was it because he did not go about saying, "I love you" at every sunrise? He supposed he was going to have to learn to say those words with regularity. "I love you, Claire."

She seemed unable to return the profession, but her smile declared it, as did her eagerness when she planted a series of joyful, little kisses across his face before fixing on his lips. Her happiness soon settled into earnestness, and her kiss intensified while she shifted purposefully in his lap. His lips broke from hers as he gasped in reaction to the sharp, sudden pleasure her movement elicited. Before he could quite recover, she had turned to straddle him. He moaned, threw himself back onto the blanket, and pulled her down too. She pressed suggestively against him and teased, "That must be painful."

"Yes," he murmured, his eyes twinkling in the shadowy light, "perhaps you can finally kiss it and make it all better."

She began by kissing his ear, into which she whispered, "Happy Christmas, Sayid."

He closed his eyes to savor the feel of her cool, moist lips against his burning skin. "That poem Hurley shared with me last night is more fitting than I thought," he said. His voice was growing husky as she began to inch down his chest, kissing and tasting his salty flesh. "Guess how it ends?" he asked, gripping the blanket and tightening his hands into fists as he anticipated her destination. "A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a _good night_."


	19. Chapter 19

**HOLIDAY HAPPENINGS _CONTINUED_**

**AULD LANG SYNE**

**_We two have run about the hills,  
and pulled the daisies fine;  
But we've wandered many a weary foot,  
since auld lang syne._**

_- Robert Burns_

**Chapter One**

It was the afternoon after Christmas, and in his new hut Sayid had just unlatched his suitcase. He had shared a dresser with Hurley, and although he had built the furniture himself, he had not had the heart to take it with him. Between Claire and Aaron, however, there wasn't much room in Claire's dresser, so he shut the suitcase again and placed it in a corner.

"What do you want me to do with this?" Claire asked, motioning towards his backpack.

He suppressed an instinctive tickle of annoyance. Sayid had every intention of taking care of the backpack and putting it away neatly. Yet she could not wait for him to do it, could she? She had to ask what he wanted _her _to do with it. Nothing, of course. He wanted her to leave it alone. He would get around to it. He supposed, however, that this was what living with a woman meant, and it was a very small price to pay for the rewards that would no doubt follow. "I have a change of clothes in there," he said mildly. "If you have any room left in your dresser, you might put them in."

He turned back to the suitcase and contemplated whether the corner was the best location. He heard her opening the drawer and pulling things out of the backpack, and suddenly she seemed very silent. He was about to turn when he heard her ask, "Who is she? Your sister?"

He walked over to the dresser, where she stood holding the photograph of Nadia, the one that had lingered deep inside his backpack, the one he had reclaimed from the ruins at Rousseau's. He had never thought of getting rid of it, because it marked the first step on the road to his new life. For a brief moment he considered answering yes. It was not that he believed she would be upset to learn he owned a picture of someone he had once loved. After all, she knew he kept the photograph of Shannon he had taken from Boone's wallet, and Claire herself had reserved for Charlie's guitar a place of honor in the hut. But if Sayid told Claire who Nadia was, then he would also have to tell her who _he _was.

Claire knew what Sayid had done on the island, and she had looked past his torture of Sawyer, the rumors of his uncontrolled beating of Gale. Yet those had been rare cases, perpetrated under extreme circumstances, in a place where everyone was struggling to survive. He had not told her that he had once made a six year career of such actions. He thought of how she had held Charlie at bay, even after she had believed he was clean, for fear of what he had been and what he might become again.

Sayid swallowed. "No," he said. "She is not my sister."

"Then who is she?"

He looked down at the ground and attempted to gather the right words. How did he tell this story? He had told it only once before, under threat of torture.

He did not realize his posture might appear guilty until Claire moaned, "Oh, God" as she dropped the picture to the floor. Her hand flew to her forehead, and she closed her eyes hard as if she were attempting not to cry. "You're married, aren't you? Back home. You're still married."

"What? No! How could you think…If I had been married…No!"

She looked embarrassed by her assumption, relieved by his answer, and generally confused. "Then why won't you answer me?"

So he did. He told her everything: what he had been, what he had done, and who had first drawn him from the unfathomable pit he had mined for himself. And then he waited for the disgust to begin working its way across her features. He waited for the fear. He waited for some reaction, any reaction.

She put her arms around his waist and buried her head against his chest. He could feel his shirt growing wet from her tears. He held her, and still he waited, until the warm wetness stopped growing. "Claire?" he asked cautiously. "Tell me…please tell me you know I am no longer that man." And again he waited. He waited while she clung to him. He listened to her breathing, which was still raspy from the crying. He closed his eyes and felt the clutching, intrusive fingers of a hollowness he had not known since the months that followed Shannon's death.

Her hand slid from around his back and grasped at his hand. "I know," she said, and she began guiding him toward the blanket that was spread out on the floor. Some of the survivors had attempted to build bedframes, but no mattress they could manage to manufacture from the products of the jungle proved as comfortable as a simple blanket spread atop the sand. "Make love to me," she said.

The wave of relief, the tremendous surge of tenderness came first. Then he glanced nervously at the curtain divide. "But…Aaron…"

"He's napping, Sayid."

"Yes, but he has been asleep awhile. How long do we have?"

Claire smiled _that _smile. The smile that usually arose when he had made some cultural gaffe. The smile that told him she adored him, and which made him feel simultaneously beloved and foolish. "There's no telling," she said. "You're going to be living with a very active toddler. You have to learn to make the most of time."

He followed her to the bed and lay down with her. Even though it was a warm afternoon, he made sure they were fully covered with a blanket. They had not been kissing and caressing one another for long, however, before he forgot his concern. She was right: he was going to have to learn to make the most of time, and she was an exceptional teacher.

Afterwards, she cuddled against him, and he felt a sense of gratitude he did not quite know how to express. Claire was going to accept him. When things were uncertain, she was going to listen to his explanations. She was never going to go out of her way to instigate a fight with him. He could not explain just how overpowering a sense of liberation washed over him as he thought, _This is going to work. Somehow, someway, this is always going to work. _So he just said, "I love you."

She kissed his shoulder, softly, lightly. "I love you, too."

As they continued to lie together, he listened intently and thought that every creaking of the hut, every distant wave upon the shore, every passing person outside was the sound of Aaron stirring. He continued to hold one arm wrapped around Claire while he stretched the other out to grab his pants.

She had been drifting off and was awakened when her position was disturbed. "What are you doing?" she murmured.

"Getting dressed. We had best get dressed."

She laughed and sat up and said, "Fine. Hand me my clothes."

When both were dressed, they snuggled together again. She kissed him and pressed her jean clad hips against him and teased him with her movements. He groaned and dipped a hand into the waistband of her pants, but a second later he tore it out when he heard the cry of "Mummmeeeeeee!" coming from behind the curtain. Claire smiled apologetically and rose.

Sayid lay back, stared at the ceiling, and tried to concentrate on square roots and integrals. Meanwhile, behind the curtain, Claire soothed a groggy, waking Aaron by singing off-key and out of tune. The child didn't care how she sounded. His love was unconditional.

Sayid smiled. It would not be long before his heart was irrevocably tied to that boy. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to build a mere wood partition. He was going to build a room with a door. A door that locked.


	20. Chapter 20

**Auld Lang Syne**

**Chapter Two**

The next night, Sayid had to cover for Sawyer's night patrol shift. Had he known what greater joys awaited him, he might not have made the promise; but at the time he had traded for the amaretto, he had not known he would be living with Claire. So the following day, he was particularly anxious to get home. A last minute, emergency repair on Rose and Bernard's hut had kept him out late, and by the time he ducked inside out of the rain, Aaron had been long asleep.

Claire was sitting cross-legged on their blanket, and she was bent over a pad of paper on which she appeared to be making careful notations. Sayid sat beside her, and, as he dried his dark, luxurious hair with a towel, he glanced down at the pad. She had created a crude calendar. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Figuring out which days we can have sex," she said as she wrote a capital "F" inside one of the blocks.

A third of him wanted to laugh. A third of him was struggling not to feel offended. And a third of him was simply confused. "Do you not care for spontaneity? Even I am not so meticulous as to set a schedule for everything."

Her smile was bright in the light of the oil lamp. Seeing it softened the negative feelings and bolstered the positive, so that he did actually laugh. "I do not understand," he admitted.

"We don't have anything anymore, you know. I mean, we haven't for months."

He tossed the towel aside. "We…excuse me?" She couldn't be implying that the spark was gone from their relationship. Indeed, it had just started to flame. And they had only been together for a little over a month. So what precisely _was_ she talking about?

Her teeth bit into her lip a little as she giggled. He loved that shade of girlishness in her personality; she could be brave and assertive when situations demanded it—especially when Aaron's well being was at stake—but then the next moment she could seem so charmingly innocent. She inspired in him such a wide range of emotions that he never quite knew what feeling would sweep over him next: whether tenderness, or passion, or love, or affection, or desire.

"Sayid, I'm trying not to get pregnant. The rhythm method is all we have. I'm figuring out my fertile days so we can avoid…you know."

"Oh." He supposed he should have deduced her meaning sooner. He had been a science major, after all, but biology had not been his subject of interest. It involved far too long a catalogue of terms, far too many definitions, and far too little reasoning. There was not much to be calculated and too much to be memorized. Genetics had been intriguing enough; it contained a hint of algebra, and he had enjoyed applying the math. But biology wasn't like chemistry: there was an exciting yet practical science he could gladly throw his mind into.

He now leaned slowly to his left and glanced down at the calendar. He was looking in the box for today and hoping, earnestly, that it did not contain the letter F. The box was empty except for the number 28. He raised his eyes to hers and smiled.

She arched a single eyebrow and said, "Yes, Sayid?"

"Nothing. I was merely making an observation."

"And what did you observe?" she asked, lowering her pen and placing it and the calendar on the ground to the side of the blanket. She turned to him and rested a hand on his thigh.

"Your fingers," he said, covering them with his hand. "I was just noticing that they are uncommonly delicate, considering how much labor we do here." 

"My fingers?" She sighed dramatically. "Then I suppose you wouldn't be interested in making love?"

He suppressed a laugh between tight lips, but it rose to his eyes. "I could possibly be persuaded."

As it turned out, he did not require much persuasion. Later, they fell into what were already becoming their habitual positions. She molded comfortably to his form, her arm draped over his waist, one of her legs between his, and her cheek on his chest. As they lay together, Sayid began to think that he was in no mood to have a mere girlfriend, not here, not now, not in a place where the only guarantee was that time was short. This sharing of Claire's hut was, for him, no trial run.

Even though Claire had made it clear she had given him her whole heart, he was not entirely sure what she would say if, tonight, he asked her to be his wife. He suspected the answer would be yes, but he would not dare to make another assumption. As an interrogator, Sayid had learned to sound people out before asking the most pertinent questions. As a soldier, he had learned not to act on whim, but to always weigh the risk against the reward, to balance the cost with the benefit. He had forgotten that lesson once, the first time he had attempted to ambush the Others, but, on the whole, Sayid was not a gambling man. He did not like the idea of asking a significant question to which he did not already know the answer.

He gracefully trailed a single finger down the length of her spine and back up. She murmured her encouragement, and he began to rub her back. When he stopped, she squirmed against him to urge him to continue, but instead he asked a question. "What do you expect from our relationship?"

She pulled away partly to look at him curiously. "Umm…well, I expect you to be faithful and treat me well. And I'll do the same."

"Of course." It wasn't quite the information he was hoping she would furnish. He supposed he would have to admit an element of chance after all. 

"Good night," she said and kissed his lips softly. She turned away on her side, and he spooned himself against her before drifting off to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

**Auld Lang Syne**

**And there's a hand my trusty _friend_ !  
And _give us_ a hand o' thine !  
And we'll _take_ a right _good-will draught_,  
for auld lang syne.**

_- Robert Burns_

**Chapter Three**

Sayid passed by Sawyer's hut. Just as he had done the last three days, he kept his head bent and walked rapidly, but the defensive posture did not spare him now. Sawyer stepped directly in his path. Sayid came to a halt and raised his head deliberately. His eyes spoke only a casual annoyance, but the darkening edges suggested there was opportunity for grander aggravation.

Sawyer did not let the occasion pass unexploited. "Sooooo, you've been avoiding me. But I see you've moved in with Claire." He tapped his forehead. "I'm perceptive that way." Then he ran his tongue over his lips in amusement. "So, when you gonna pop the question?"

_Pop. Verb. To make a short, sharp, explosive sound._ Clearly that was not Sawyer's meaning. _Pop. Verb. To move quickly or unexpectedly. _"Pop the question," then, must mean to issue an unexpected question. _No, not **a** question, **the **question. The was the operative word here. Pop **the **question –_

"And why," Sawyer said with forced gravity, attempting to mimic Sayid's accent but failing to suppress his own, "have you failed to make matters official?"

"I moved into Claire's hut this week," he answered tightly. "I did not impregnate her a year ago." Had he just said that? Why was he attempting to enter into any such conversation with Sawyer?

The truth was that Sayid had already begun to plan for his proposal. However, he wasn't about to reveal that to Sawyer, who probably would have been quite surprised to learn of his intentions._ Feint left. Walk on._

Sawyer repaid Sayid's accusation with a snicker. "Well, it's only a matter of time before you do, don't you think? I mean, we ain't got anymore pro-phy-lac-tics." He seemed to like annunciating that word, as if he were a child impressed by his own vocabulary. "I mean, if your boys can swim."

_Boys. Swim._ Simple words, but even an encyclopedic brain could only piece together so much in the midst of a moment of irritation.

Sawyer's next line made his meaning clear enough: "We already know _she_ can breed."

Sayid wasn't sure when he clenched his fist, or when he raised it, but he was conscious by the time Sawyer's head was snapping back, and he certainly saw the man rubbing the welt that was growing on his cheek and feeling his nose to make sure it hadn't been broken. "What was that for?" the southerner complained.

"What do you mean what was that for? You insulted --" Syid gritted his teeth and walked on, which is what, he rebuked himself, he should have done in the first place.

"Hey!" Sawyer called after him. "Can't we all just get along?"

Sayid expected those to be the last words he allowed himself to hear from Sawyer today, but to his surprise the man joined him at his wood chopping task later that afternoon. The southerner was silent for quite awhile; Sayid thought that perhaps his glower was successfully keeping the provocateur at bay. So when Sawyer eventually approached, he could feel his frame tensing, readying itself for any necessary response.

"Look…uh…Sayid…" Sawyer said, swinging his axe just above the ground and looking anywhere and everywhere but at the Iraqi. "Earlier today. I was just joking around." When Sayid did not accept the pseudo-apology, Sawyer said, simply, "I was out of line. I would of hit you too. Truce?"

Sayid regarded him wearily but nodded nonetheless. Sawyer returned to chopping. Sayid glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. The man didn't seem to have an ulterior motive. If he had been anything other than sincere, Sayid could not perceive it. Perhaps Kate was having a gradual but permanent positive influence on her husband. Sayid shook his head reflexively. _Positive, yes. Permanent, unlikely. _

After a time of silent laboring, Sawyer tested the waters. "Hurley give you any tasks for the New Year's party?" He couldn't quite stop himself from at least one innocent jibe, however. "I mean, aside from persuading Claire to make her scrumptious berry sauce."

"No."

"I'm supplying the products for adult consumption. I've been fermenting my barrels for awhile now. They should be just about perfect."

"I have always said your talents were indispensable to society. I do not know why the populace continues to pass you over every time you make a bid for council." The council of six was elected every six months. Sayid had thought the frequency of elections to be unwise and disruptive, but a people accustomed to tumultuous times and rapid change had preferred possessing the power to alter quickly over maintaining stability through more lasting fixtures. In practice, the slate had not changed after the second election. Sayid, Kate, Locke, Hurley, Rose, and Eko had continued to serve since the council's inception.

"I've never tried to get on the council!" Sawyer insisted, brushing away his unruly bangs. "Not the first time we had elections and not the second."

Sayid shrugged. "Your wife nominated you last time."

"That was her doing. It had nothing to do with me. Nothing. I wouldn't have served even if I'd a been elected."

"Indeed," murmured Sayid, not quite suppressing his smile. "Indeed."


	22. Chapter 22

**Auld Lang Syne**

**Chapter Four**

Aaron slumbered in the sand just underneath the canopy of the common dinning hall. Sayid had known the toddler would never last until midnight, but the boy had made a valiant effort. Tonight, everyone had congregated to drink and talk and ring in the New Year with song.

The crowd began to gather in closer as midnight approached. The countdown would begin any moment. Sayid would draw Claire aside from the group soon enough; if he played his cards right, it would appear as if he was only attempting to keep her near the slumbering Aaron.

He fumbled in his pocket to feel the ring and cursed himself for not allowing Donnovan to weld it. Its width was uneven--the band would grow and shrink as it circled her finger--and he had been frustrated by the product of his efforts. He had wanted desperately to give her the personal, deliberate work of his own hands. Instead, he had wasted the silver.

He could wait until he was able to secure enough silver and have the welder make a perfect band, but it might be another month or more before he could convince Sawyer to give up the stash of metal. And Sayid had planned so carefully for this moment. He longed to be able to furnish Claire with a ring the instant they welcomed the New Year, because this was _their _new year, their new beginning, the fresh opportunity to be seized even while old times were not forgotten.

He would offer the band only as a temporary measure; he would explain that a more perfect replacement would follow, and he believed she would understand. He slid his sturdy hand over Claire's and tugged gently, pulling her back towards Aaron. She looked longingly at the group, which had just shouted "10" in unison, but Sayid nodded toward Aaron, and she followed.

"9!" cried the crowd, as Sayid slipped a hand into his pocket.

"8!" they announced, as he drew out the deformed band.

"7!" they exclaimed as it slipped from his fingers.

"6!" came the chorus as the ring dropped to the ground and hid itself in shadows.

"5!" chanted the survivors as Sayid fell with frustration to his knees and began to run his fingertips frantically across the sand in a blind search.

"4! " Sayid gritted his teeth in anger at himself.

"3!" It had all been planned, perfectly planned, and he had ruined the moment with his clumsiness.

"2!" He had ruined it, and there would never be another opportunity quite like this.

"1!"

Claire's hand stilled his. At some point she had fallen to the sand with him. Her lips came down firmly on his mouth and she kissed him deeply, for a very long time. He forgot his anxiety until she pulled away, and before he could recall his frustration, she said, "Happy New Year, Sayid. Were you looking for this?" She held out the irregular band.

He let out a sigh. His eyes flickered away from hers. "I…I wanted to make everything…" She took his hand, stretched it open and placed the ring on his palm. He returned his eyes to her face as she closed his fingers over it. She was smilingly so brightly. He had utterly botched the moment, and still she was smiling just as he had imagined in his fantasy. "The answer is yes," she said softly.

Still reeling from his upset plans, he took the ring and slid it on her finger. He drew her to a standing position. Placing a hand on either of her shoulders, he looked her in the eyes and said, "I know the ring is uneven." He watched her stretch out her fingers and look at the band. "I was foolish and tried to make it myself. I will have Donovan fashion another. It may take awhile, but you will have a replacement. You will have the ring you deserve."

"No," Claire said simply, and she waved her fingers, still looking at the ring.

"What?"

"I won't be needing a replacement." She freed herself from his grip, glanced towards Kate, and motioned the woman over. As the last strands of "Auld Lang Syne" filled the air, Kate made her way to Claire. "I'm getting married," Claire said excitedly, showing off the ring. Kate's smile was almost as broad as Claire's, but not nearly so broad as Sawyer's, who had pulled up behind the pair and was peeking at the ring. He glanced from Claire's band to Kate's much more impressive one to Sayid. His smile grew even more smug.

"I am going to have a better one made," Sayid insisted, looking at the southerner. "This was purely a temporary measure."

Sawyer snorted. He took Kate's hand and turned it so the jewels in her band sparkled in the torchlight. Kate yanked her hand away. "James Ford," she hissed. "Leave him alone." She congratulated Claire one more time before dragging her own husband off.

"I told you," Claire said, "this ring is fine."

Sayid opened his mouth to argue with her, but she had turned aside and was immersing herself in the crowd, showing the ring to everyone. He felt the warmth rising to his cheeks, the hot shame mingling with the irritation. Why was she insisting the ring was good enough? Did she think he needed her pity? Surely she knew he was perfectly capable of providing her with the best. He could and he would produce a better ring. She deserved more than the simple, misshapen band that now caught the flames of the fire and gleamed in the sight of everyone. He would go to Sawyer tomorrow—he would offer any price for the silver, and then he would find the welder—

Sayid saw Claire turning the ring gently on her finger, holding her hand out to Rose, lifting her beautiful, contended face to smile in response to the older woman, and he was struck with the sudden revelation that Claire was _not _humoring him. She wanted _that _ring, and that ring alone.

Sayid's eyelids fluttered shut for a moment and then opened. Under the canopy of the dazzling stars, Jin sat in the sand and watched his daughter kneeling and rocking as if she were prepared to launch forward into a crawl. The infant never seemed to sleep, and the dark lines had begun to appear under Sun's eyes. Those eyes, however, were bright and shinning tonight, set off by the white gleam of her teeth as she smiled down at her husband and daughter. Just beyond the couple, Sawyer supported his dozing infant against his shoulder. The man had never looked comfortable holding the child, and he still didn't, but he was past the point of masking his obvious affection, and he kissed the top of the baby's head. Behind the fond father, Desmond's girlfriend was taking his sixth cup of liquor from his hands while the Scotsman conceded with a nod that it was time to stop. Nearby, Eko's broad smile grew as he carved something new into his prayer stick. A few feet away, Hurley and Rebekah laughed and talked. The young lady would occasionally slap a playful hand on the big man's back or chest in response to his words and then let her touch linger there. Hurley would react like a suddenly paralyzed man, clueless about what to do with his own hands. The young man finally used them to pick up a stray ball, which had been thrown by Zach to Locke. The hunter took it from Hurley, smiled at the young couple, and tossed it to Emma.

Sayid sensed some of the men drawing near him, slapping him on his shoulder, offering their congratulations, but he did not hear their words. He was watching Claire now, and he was beginning to feel a powerful pride in the way she wore the ring, in the way she held it out for her friends to view.

Claire understood. And now he understood too. They were all as flawed as that ring, every last one of them. They had all been somehow deformed in the fire that smelted them, in the flames that turned chaos into shape. Yet, in the end, the final product was a labor of love, and for all its imperfection, it served its purpose perfectly.

Claire came to him now, and he took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the ring along with her flesh. He raised his bent head to be bathed in the warmth of her gaze and murmured, "Happy New Year, Claire. I love you."


	23. Chapter 23

**Auld Lang Syne**

**Epilogue**

"Did you get him back to bed?" Claire asked as Sayid lay down sidewise beside her on the floor of the hut.

Sayid nodded and draped his arm around her waist. She rested her hand on his shoulder. The wedding band he had given her shone in the candlelight. "He loves those Arabian adventures you've been telling him. He was getting tired of the Three Little Pigs."

Sayid nuzzled her neck and murmured, "I assure you Aaron is sleeping soundly." He slid his mocha hand over the edge of her night shirt and down between her creamy thighs, which he parted gently. When he began to shift himself closer, she interrupted him with a staying hand and the warning, "It's a fertile day."

He sighed audibly and rolled onto his back. His fingers now delved into his curls, so that his palm rested on his forehead.

Claire turned to press her body against his side. "I'm sorry. I know the rhythm method is demanding, but it's all we have on this island. And," she began to trail her hand lightly down his chest and across his navel, "it's not as if we can't do other things."

He caught her hand and returned it higher.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He was not sure if he should try to have this discussion. She was always so careful to track her cycle, so meticulous in her planning—it was quite clear she did not wish to risk pregnancy again, and could he blame her? She had managed to deliver without a doctor the first time; Sun, Kate, and other mothers had done well with only the assistance of the island's paramedic. But such deliveries were painful and dangerous, and then there followed the around-the-clock feedings without exception, without so much as a single emergency bottle to draw from the refrigerator on the worst of nights. There were the fears, too, for a vulnerable infant without access to modern medicine, the fears Claire had suffered acutely in that first year, and which Sun and Kate were still enduring now.

Claire was looking down at him earnestly; her tender eyes pled with him to let her fix whatever anxiety he was feeling, and he hated to think this conversation might end with her feeling less than content. So he shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "I only stopped you because…I want to please you first."

But Claire was not deceived. "Please, Sayid. You've always been straightforward with me."

He caressed her cheek but did not quite meet her eyes. "Very well. I want to have a child with you."

He glanced up, just a little bit, and saw what he had feared: the soft hesitation of a woman who did not want to wound the man she loved. "I…You don't know how hard it was, Sayid, in the beginning."

He sat up and lifted her to a sitting position across from him. "No," he admitted. "No, I do not. I will not pretend to. But, Claire…I would be with you this time. Every step. I would provide for your comfort in every way I possibly can."

"You couldn't ever feed the baby so I could sleep."

"No. But I could stay up when you were done feeding, if she had not settled—"

Claire's warm smiled was an unexpected interruption. "You want a girl?"

"I…I want whatever we are given."

"If we are given anything. We may not be. And what then? Would you be unhappy?"

"No." He kissed her forehead and then pressed his own against it. "Claire, not a day goes by that I do not thank Allah for the life we have together, for you, and for Aaron. But is it wrong that I should desire to extend that love to encompass another, if such an extension is possible?"

She drew away. His head remained bent. "Of course it isn't wrong. Is it wrong for me to be cautious about it?"

He looked up. "No. But you asked what troubled me, and…that is what troubles me: that you do not seem open to the possibility."

She took his hand in hers. "I _am _open to the possibility, Sayid."

"You are?"

"I _have _to be. The method isn't exactly foolproof. I'm keeping track as best I can, but if we keep at the way we have been, and we're both able to have kids…sooner or later, it's probably going to happen. I'm aware of that, and I've accepted it, and I would be honored to be the mother of your child if that happened. But Aaron is still so young, and I'm young, and I'd like to try to prevent it. If it happens by accident…" She raised her shoulders and smiled mildly. "I'm okay with that."

"And if it does not occur by accident?"

"Then a year from now…we could start trying. Would that be okay?"

"Do you want that?" he asked.

"I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't."

He felt his smile growing and thought he must look very silly with such an unusually broad grin. But Claire did not seem to think so. She reacted by tackling him back down to the floor.

Tonight, "other things" would do.


	24. Chapter 24

**Memorial Day**

**Note:** _This is another addition in a series of holiday-themed stories that began with a Halloween celebration (chapter one of this monstrous compilation). It's been awhile since I updated, so, as a reminder, this alternate universe was formed before we knew a lot. In this world, the survivors have settled down on the island after a truce with the Others. Jack went off with the Others to be with Juliet. Sayid and Claire are married. Charlie is dead, but Eko is still alive. Kate has a son with Sawyer, and Sun has a daughter with Jin._

**Summary: **_Memorial Day stirs up memories for Sayid, Kate, Sawyer, and Claire._

**Chapter One**

"Who is it?" Kate called through the open window. The knocking on the door came in firm, precisely spaced raps. She knew only one person who knocked liked that, but the question was a reflex.

"It is I." And then after a pause, "Sayid."

Kate's snort traveled through the open window.

"What is so amusing?"

Kate opened the door and stepped out into the sun. The sand beneath her feet went from warm to hot in an instant. She sunk her toes into it and wiggled until she had adjusted to the burning sensation. The sound of the waves was no longer muffled as it had been inside the hut.

In the first few months after the treaty, opening the door to the sound of the ocean's roar always resulted in a faint sense of disappointment. The voice of the waves was an audible reminder of the fact that they were surrounded on all sides by a chasm that would keep them forever separated from civilization. Yet they had since built, if not exactly a civilization, at least a workable society. The ocean no longer seemed to moan. For better or for worse, this was home.

"Just say, 'It's me,'" she advised Sayid.

"In the English construction, I is in fact the subject of the sentence. It is not the object, and therefore the object pronoun—"

"Just say me," Kate repeated. "It's been five years since we crashed. You can start to assimilate." Her lips curled into a smile at about the same time as his own.

"It's me," he said, and then the smile faded partly, and, with greater seriousness, he asked, softly, "How are you?"

She looked down the shore to where Sawyer was attempting to fly a kite with their four- year old son. James Junior was getting frustrated that the wind would not take hold of the material, and he was tugging the string and screaming—she could not hear, but she could guess—"It's not fair! It's not fair!" Sawyer was reacting as he always did to his son's impatience—she could not quite see, but she could guess—with clenched teeth and muffled cursing and finally by ripping the kite from his son's hands and walking away with it.

"Fine," she said, in a voice that said, "Not fine."

Sayid followed her gaze. "He's trying."

"Yeah," Kate said. "Well, he's failing. Hurley told you my request?"

Sayid nodded. "The way the laws are set up, everything is automatically divided evenly. As council chair, I'll officially strike through the marriage date in the community record book. You two divide the property yourselves and make your own custody arrangements. If you can't agree, I will call the council together for negotiations."

Kate put her hands on her hips. She looked at the ocean, not at Sayid. "We'll work it out ourselves. Jimmy's living with me. Sawyer's going to build his own place."

"Kate."

His voice drew her eyes back to him.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, someone has to have the first divorce on the island, right? We have to build some kind of precedent for posterity."

Sayid didn't say anything. Kate didn't expect him to. He didn't dispense advice or offer judgments. He said what had to be said, and then he stood in silence. It was his way.

"Friday is memorial day," she said. That was good, she thought. Talking about the dead was less painful than talking about the living. Of course, she didn't have anyone truly close to her buried in that cemetery. She had forgotten Sayid did. She looked away so she wouldn't have to see how the words affected him. It had been a long time, and Sayid had built a new life with Claire. She couldn't guess how much the memory still pained him.

"Yes," he replied. "Hurley's coordinating the ceremonies, of course."

Hurley was elected to the post of community events coordinator on the council every election without fail. Sayid was elected to the council every election without fail as well, although he was not always voted to be the chair, and he had spoken of possibly stepping down next year and not serving at all.

"Eko will be giving the eulogy again," Sayid said. She dared to look at his eyes now. Whatever emotion may have been there before had flitted past, and he was all business. "No one else wanted to. One hopes it will be a little…shorter this year."

Kate chuckled. "He's poetic though, at least, right?"

Sayid's eyes shrugged upward and then steadied. "Some of us don't have the energy to decipher parables." Then he smiled. It was a partly apologetic, partly amused, partly pained smile. It was a strange combination to see on his face. "Yet he is a good public speaker. Claire was deeply moved by his speech last year."

Kate remembered; she remembered Sayid leaving Aaron with Sun and then gently leading Claire away from the service. Kate had wondered what it was like for them, as a couple, to endure that holiday, when they had both lost someone they had loved and yet had found one another. Was it strange? Knowing each might be mourning another, thinking of a past relationship? Or was it somehow comforting? She couldn't guess what it must feel like for them, but they got through it somehow; somehow, they got through everything together: Aaron's strange illness, from which he had recovered; Sayid's injury to his arm, which had taken almost a year to heal; and their inability to conceive a child together. Somehow, they got through it all.

Yet she and Sawyer couldn't even manage to get through dinner. Of course, Sawyer was nothing like Sayid. It would have been easy to blame Sawyer for the break-up. But she couldn't, even though she wanted to. Sayid was right. He _had _been trying. She guessed that, sometimes, trying just wasn't enough.

"I've got to get Jimmy for his lessons," she said, and she walked straight past Sayid without waiting for him to say good-bye.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Two**

Claire laughed. Sayid's beard was ticklish against her bare shoulder as he snuggled against her. It had made her laugh so often that Sayid had shaved it completely once, and she had begged him to grow it back. "The beard is hot," he had said, "and itchy, and it makes you laugh." "It's masculine," she had said, "and sexy, and it makes me hot." He had stopped shaving the next day.

In another room of the hut, behind a wooden partition, Aaron muttered intermittently in his sleep. This made Claire laugh too, as much as she was trying to ignore the sound. Sayid's lips were soft and warm and moist against the small of her neck, and his touch was tender and teasing across her navel and down to the waist of her pants, but still she could not stop laughing. He sighed, an exaggerated, maligned sound, and threw himself onto his back. Still she giggled.

After she had gained control of herself, Claire rested her palm on his naked chest atop his heart. He covered her hand with his own and squeezed it tightly, the way he often did when he needed some reassurance.

"Hey," she said, "what's really bothering you? I mean, besides the kid making it a little difficult to get in the mood."

He stroked her hand lightly from the fingertips to her wrist and back again. "Why is Kate just giving up?" he asked. "Sawyer has not cheated on her. He has not hit her."

"What?" Claire sat up. "That's the sole standard for a successful marriage?"

Sayid sat across from her and took her hand again. "I mean, he has not changed in any way."

"Exactly," Claire replied.

"She knew he was temperamental and sarcastic and not precisely sociable when she married him. She accepted it then. Why can't she accept it now?"

Claire shrugged. "Sometimes it's easy to overlook things in the beginning. Love will do that to you. Trust me, I know. Aaron's dad for one."

"Kate's an intelligent woman. Surely she performed some kind of cost benefit analysis and decided his virtues outweighed his flaws, so why – "

"Are you taking _his _side?"

"I am not taking anyone's side. I'm just trying to make sense of it. Claire," - he spoke now with his eyes focused somewhere beyond her face, "can a woman just change her mind? Just like that? Could you?"

Claire freed her hand from his with a quick pull. "You think…Sayid, that's what this is about to you? After all we've been through together the last four years, you think I would just suddenly – "

Sayid shrugged, apologetically and yet still half-uncertainly. "Sawyer hasn't changed. Neither have I. I'm still short-tempered sometimes. I still have to fight the same old temptations. I still -- "

"I've never _wanted _you to change! Look, what you were before I knew you, that was another life. And whatever you think is wrong with you, you've got it pretty well under control, right?" She took his hand back and squeezed it. "This has been a long time coming for Kate and Sawyer. They've always bickered a little, but it's gotten worse, less good natured, and they've tried, but…it's not good for Jimmy to see them fighting like that. These things happen, Sayid. It has nothing to do with us. Haven't you ever seen a divorce before?"

He met her eyes. "Not anyone I have been friends with, no."

"Are you serious?" She looked into his eyes. "You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious."

"Sayid," she insisted, and whatever irritation her voice may have held a moment ago was gone, "this has nothing to do with us." She kissed him gently at first, until he had begun to respond, and then she deepened the kiss, pushing him back down to the ground. His hand roamed upward across her stomach and brushed softly against a breast just as Aaron murmured, "starfish, super starfish to the rescue" in his sleep. Claire burst out laughing, and Sayid joined her with a more controlled chuckle.

"Super starfish," Sayid muttered. "The boy has a peculiar imagination."

"I bet if we can manage to have an afternoon of passion while he's muttering about super starfish, we can get through anything together." She smiled, an innocent grin tinged with mischief. "Dare you!" She tugged at the button of his pants and yanked it loose.

"Dare gladly accepted," he replied, before pressing his lips to hers and reaching to help her with the zipper.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Three**

"Alright then," drew Sawyer. "Pick up your sand toys and let's get moving."

"_You _pick them up," insisted Jimmy, standing up and leaving the wooden pail and shovel and shell molds in the sand.

"Excuse me?" Sawyer raised a blondish brown eyebrow. "What'd you just say to me?"

"I said you pick them up. I can't."

"And why the hell can't you?"

Jimmy shrugged, and his little tanned, freckled shoulders reached almost to his ears. "I have allergies."

"Allergies to what? To doing what you're told? Now pick up those toys or I'm going to show you the back of my … " the left side of Sawyer's lips froze and then twitched into speech again, "time-out stool where I'll make you sit for five minutes while you think deep thoughts about your _feelings _and why you _feel _you have to be such a smart –"

"Too late," Kate said. "I heard the first part already."

"You know full well I'd never really lay a hand on him."

"I know, but idle threats are so effective, aren't they? And watch your language around him, why don't you?" She bent down in the sand and began to pick up the shovel and bucket.

"Hey!" Sawyer ripped the shovel from her hand and threw it back on the ground. "Let him do that himself. Don't you want him to learn a little self-reliance? Isn't that what a good father's supposed to teach his son?"

Kate put her hands on her hips. "Maybe if you didn't lose your cool almost every time you tried to teach –"

"Maybe if you didn't coddle him and walk around him and pick up after him like you were his –"

Little Jimmy's light blue eyes looked up at his father's snarling mouth. Sawyer caught the boy's watching eyes and saw the noiseless lips pressed tight like Kate's when she was hurt or annoyed. He noticed the rigid pose of his son's delicate frame as he stood on the sand, his little top teeth crushing against his little bottom teeth, the way Sawyer's own did when he was mad.

"Jimmy," Sawyer said, the edge in his voice now mostly eroded, "why don't you help your mother pick up your toys now."

"Alright."

Jimmy picked up the shells and put them in the bucket Kate held down to him. Sawyer watched her stroke his light brown hair as he dropped them in.

The kid had a sweat deal, Sawyer thought. He could rant and rave all he wanted, stomp his little feet on the sand, whine on and off again for hours, but, at the end of the day, every day, without condition, Kate would still reach out that hand, as dependably as the sun rises and sets, and gently stroke his bent little head with affection.

"I'll drop him off at Sun's for his playdate with Min," Kate said, "and then I'll meet you and Sayid."

Sawyer nodded and patted his son on one shoulder. "Yeah," he said. "Okay, yeah." He took a step back and turned on his heels. "See you in court, Freckles."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Four**

Sayid walked from the one-room school house where he had just taught a basic biology lesson to children ranging from ages three to five. He was not, he considered, gifted to be a teacher, but he had been asked to be a guest instructor, and he had conceded. Perhaps it would be easier when the children were older. Yet he found himself growing frustrated with them in much the same way he had grown frustrated with Shannon when she had been unable to find a significant translation to the maps. He was surprised by the children's self-defensive yet self-defeating reactions to his frustration, just as he had been bewildered when Shannon had stormed away from the maps. His words, which had not, he did not think, been loudly or cruelly spoken, had caused them to give up rather than to work harder at understanding. He sighed and turned his footsteps towards the cemetery.

This evening, he would do his duty as council chair and sever the legal ties between two people. Yet two days later, he would stand at he mouth of this cemetery as part of a tightly nit community. Together, as one, they would observe Memorial Day.

That community had once been bound together by the ropes of loss and grief and anger and fear, but as the years rolled on, as the battles with the Others became each year a slightly more distant history, Sayid knew that the meaning of Memorial Day would change. To Aaron's generation, it would not be and could not be a day spent consumed in personal grief, where people remembered the innocent loved ones slain, either directly or indirectly, by those Others who believed they were acting in the name of good.

And that change would be good, Sayid thought. It was right to remember the evil of which their enemies were capable. It was wise to remind themselves to remain alert to future threats. It was just to honor both those who had given their lives and those who had had their lives unwittingly taken from them. But it was not good to fixate on those losses, on those bodies rolled beneath the dirt and sand, to allow the great wave of grief to keep on rolling in to drown the living, as though they lacked the will to overcome the works of their enemies.

Memorial day would always be cloaked in solemnity, but each year it would be wrought with less and less grief. When Aaron was a man, Sayid believed, the community would continue to observe this day that commemorated the victims of the Others. Most cultures, it seemed to him, ritually mourned some momentous period of suffering in their history, some particular day of destruction, or some war. It was good that this community should do the same, so that as their descendants grew and flourished, they would not forget their own mortality, they would not grow complacent in their prosperity, and they would not allow their differences to make them overlook the common values that forged them into one people.

Sayid stood now at the foot of Shannon's cross. He could not remember when he had last lain flowers here; that year, he thought, on the anniversary of her death. He had not forgotten her, but he had pressed on. He had taken the light she had given him, and he had shone in on others, on a wife, on a son, on a whole community. He had lived, as he had wanted her to live. And even if he recorded the severing of a dozen more marriages, or entered the date of a dozen more wrongful deaths, he would go on living, filling the community record book with marriages and births and trades, filling the book with life and more life.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Five**

Sayid withdrew the community record book from a shelf on the communal library. The survivors had recovered a stash of blank, wide-ruled composition notebooks from one of the hatches, and the community library now housed most of them. Only twenty-three blank books remained to be filled, and then the survivors would have to find a new source of paper.

In addition to the community record book, there was a financial record book, which listed personal property trades, fines paid for infractions against the community, and community service contributions, which were made in lieu of taxes. There was no clearly defined system of taxation, but the service hours were recorded to ensure that no one got away with depending too heavily upon the labor of others. One library volume contained an island history, which Sayid had taken upon himself to write by systematically and chronologically recording the events that had occurred since the plane crash, including details of each (now annual) council election. Another book housed a more mythological and legendary history of the island, and it had been compiled by Locke. 

One of the volumes was a law book, which officially outlined the rules and punishments by which the survivors had agreed to govern themselves. It had begun with only a few pages, but it had grown considerably over the months and years, as laws inevitably will. Most of the books in the library, however, were poems, stories, novels, and plays written by the survivors themselves. Some were obviously more popular than others, and Sayid made it a habit to personally check out Hurley's "Captain Corpulent" comic book once a month, so that the young man would not see it resting on the shelf _every _time he visited the library.

Sayid now held the open record book in one hand, flipped through its pages with coarse fingertips, and then ran his index finger elegantly down one page until he had reached the date of Kate and Sawyer's marriage. He laid the book flat on the library table, held his finger on the date, and then turned the book to face the subjects in question. "Kate," he asked, "Do you agree to this divorce?"

"Yes," she answered, firmly and steadily.

"Sawyer, do you agree to this divorce?"

Sayid looked into his eyes; it was a habit of his to examine men's eyes, even when he did not particularly wish to see what they contained. Sawyer turned his gaze away from the Iraqi. The southerner's teeth clenched. "Hell yes," he murmured, the muffled curse rising up through a throat thick with some not-quite-suppressed emotion.

"Then the marriage is stricken from the record." Sayid took a pen and ran a thick, black line through the date and names. Underneath, he wrote two words: "divorce effective" and then the day's date.

Kate had turned and begun to walk away the moment his pen started to glide across the page, but Sawyer now still stood staring at the fresh page, at that one spot in particular, at the very end of the line, where Sayid had paused upon completion, and the ink had pooled into a small, sticky, black dot.

Sayid waited for Sawyer to turn away, to walk away decidedly as Kate had done. Sawyer, however, simply kept staring at the book. At last, Sayid lifted the black and white speckled cover and flipped the flimsy cardboard shut. His fingers pushed the cover down against the page, as though to hold it there by force, as though to keep it from bursting open of its own free will. When Sawyer still didn't move from his spot, Sayid picked the book up and slid it back onto its shelf.

"Wanna help chop wood?" Sawyer asked.

"Eko and I chopped this morning. There is enough for at least two days."

"We could always use more, eh, Mohammed?"

Sayid looked away. He wouldn't read Sawyer's eyes. Not this time. "I can't now. I promised to do something with Claire this afternoon. "

"Yeah, well, better get home to the Mrs. then, before that ball and chain starts slipping."

Sayid did not respond, and he waited until he sensed Sawyer walk away before looking up from the table he had been studying.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Six**

"No!" little Jimmy screamed. "That's the wrong order! That's not the way daddy does it."

"Okay," murmured Kate. "Okay, what's the next song then?"

"Hush Little Baby. Hush Little Baby HAS to come after Rock A Bye, not Twinkle Twinkle! It HAS to."

Kate clenched her teeth. Jimmy's fastidiousness could be annoying, but she knew that wasn't really what was making her angry at the moment.

She knew it was better for Jimmy that she and Sawyer had taken up separate lodgings, so he wouldn't see them fight the way they had been fighting lately. It would be easier to be cordial in front of their son if they didn't have to live with one another. Sawyer was always going to be a part of Jimmy's life. And hers. It was an island, after all. She believed this arrangement was better for Jimmy, and yet, the divorce wasn't going to be as easy for him as she had been trying to convince herself it would be.

"Fine," she said. "Hush Little Baby then." Kate slid off her knees, a position that was growing uncomfortable, and sat down on the floor. She let one hand ruffle the delicate hair on Jimmy's brow. "Hush, little baby don't say a word," she sang softly, "papa's going to buy you a mocking bird—"

"NO!" Jimmy shouted. "That's not how daddy sings it!"

Kate sighed. "How does he sing it, then?"

"Not a mocking bird! A cattle herd!"

"And if that cattle herd don't – " Kate looked at Jimmy with an expectant expression. She had heard Sawyer sing to him, of course, but she hadn't paid attention to the words. The bedtime ritual had been her quiet time, a chance to sneak away and read by firelight without interruption.

"Trample the Others."

"Trample the Others??" she asked, unable to conceive of what word could rhyme with others.

"Yes!"

"And if that herd don't trample the Others, papa's gonna buy you a - " she looked at little Jimmy again.

"Dozen brothers! A dozen brothers!"

Kate shook her head. "That's ridiculous. You can't buy brothers."

"Daddy could! If he needed to daddy could! You're not singing it right! It's not fair! You keep stopping. It's not fair!"

"Stay here!" Kate barked, a little more sternly than she had intended. She rose and poked her head out of the hut. She looked left and then right and spied the closest figure. "Hurley!" she shouted.

The young man turned. It looked like he was headed on his way to his girlfriend's hut, the one he still hadn't mustered the courage to propose to, after more than three years of dating. "Yeah?"

"Get Sawyer for me, would you?"


End file.
